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THE   CONTEMPORARY 

SHORT  STORY 

'    '      »      ■>       *  '  ^ '  ) '  , 

A  PRACTICAL  MANUAL 


By  harry  T.  baker,  M.A. 

INSTRUCTOR  IN  ENGLISH   IN  THE   UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS; 

FORMERLY  SPECIAL  READER  OF  FICTION  MANUSCRIPTS, 

INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

OF  "good  housekeeping,"   "harper's 

BAZAR,"   ETC. 


D.  C.  HEATH  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

BOSTON      NEW  YORK      CHICAGO 


fiDjk^OA.,^ 


^697Cz. 


•  /    •  I  •  •  • 


Copyright,  1916, 
By  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co. 

1L6 


^ 


Co 

WHO  HAS  MADE  THE  STUDY  OF 

ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

A  DELIGHT  TO  MANY  GENERATIONS 

OF  COLLEGE  STUDENTS 


596C56 


PREFACE 

A  DISTINGUISHED  British  critic,  Professor  Hugh  Walker, 
remarks:  "There  is  no  other  form  of  Hterature  in  which 
America  is  so  eminent  as  in  the  writing  of  short  stories." 
This  dictum  alone  is  sufficient  justification  for  introducing 
a  course  in  this  subject  into  every  college  in  the  land. 
Not  only  is  a  better  understanding  and  appreciation  of 
the  finest  short  stories  fostered  by  such  a  course,  but  not 
a  few  students  find  themselves  able  to  write  tales  that 
are  accepted  by  reputable  American  periodicals  —  if  not 
during  their  undergraduate  years,  at  any  rate  shortly 
afterward. 

Writing  fiction  for  the  magazines  is  both  an  art  and  a 
business.  This  volume  accordingly  aims  to  teach  promis- 
ing young  authors,  whether  in.  or  out  of  college,  how  to 
write  stories  that  shall  be  marketable  as  well  as  artistic. 
It  attempts  to  state  succinctly,  and  as  clearly  as  may  be, 
some  fundamental  principles  of  short-story  writing.  These 
principles  are  based  upon  somewhat  extensive  reading  of 
short  fiction  in  English,  both  classic  and  contemporary; 
of  a  pretty  large  number  of  manuscripts  submitted  to 
important  periodicals;  and  of  most  of  the  critical  works 
on  the  short  story.  Many  of  the  pages  are  written  from 
the  editorial  standpoint.  I  have  not  attempted  to  set 
up  an  impracticable  ideal  on  the  one  hand,  nor  to  concede 
too  much  to  the  lower  range  of  popular  taste  on  the  other. 

[v] 


Preface 

No  apology  need  be  offered,  even  in  a  university  class- 
room, for  the  better  sort  of  contemporary  short  stories. 
They  justify  themselves  as  worth-while  studies  of  human 
life  and  character.  They  cannot  be  written  without  an 
adequate  first-hand  acquaintance  with  life.  A  good  many 
lack  polish  of  style;  but  a  surprising  number  possess  it. 
Surely,  when  so  original  a  genius  and  so  great  an  artist  as 
Kipling  devotes  himseK  chiefly  to  the  short  story,  no 
attitude  of  timidity  is  necessary  in  proclaiming  that  this 
form  of  hterature  has  come  into  its  own;  and  our  best 
magazines  will  see  to  it  that  it  does  not  decline.  The 
short  story  can  no  longer  be  dismissed,  with  a  lofty  wave 
of  the  academic  hand,  as  "mere  entertainment."  It  must 
be  taken  seriously. 

Acknowledgment  is  made  with  gratitude  to  Professors 
C.  T.  Winchester,  BHss  Perry,  Brander  Matthews, 
Stuart  P.  Sherman  and  Henry  S.  Canby,  for  suggestions 
and  quotations  obtained  from  their  text  books;  also  to 
Mr.  Eric  Schuler,  secretary  of  the  Authors'  League  of 
America,  to  the  Methodist  Review  for  permission  to  reprint 
a  part  of  my  article,  "Some  Notes  on  the  Short  Story," 
and  to  the  following  newspapers,  magazines,  publishers, 
and  authors  who  have  kindly  allowed  illustrative  passages 
to  be  reproduced:  the  New  York  Times  and  Sun,  the 
Saturday  Evening  Post,  Harper'sy  Scribner's,  the  Pic- 
torial Review,  Everybody's,  the  Smart  Set,  McClure's, 
Good  Housekeeping,  Harper's  Bazar,  the  Metropolitan,  the 
Bookman,  the  Strand,  Henry  Holt  and  Company,  The 
Macmillan  Company,  Houghton  MiflBiin  Company,  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  Dodd,  Mead  and  Company,  Hearst's 
International  Library  Company,  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons, 
Doubleday,  Page  and  Company,  Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle, 


Preface 

Mr.  W.  W.  Jacobs,  Mr.  Melville  Davisson  Post,  Mr. 
Julian  Street,  Mr.  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts,  Mr.  Freeman 
Tilden,  Mr.  Donn  Byrne,  Mr.  Thomas  Grant  Springer, 
Miss  Fannie  Hurst,  Mrs.  Gertrude  Atherton,  Mr.  Ward 
Muir,  Mr.  Harry  Leon  Wilson,  Mr.  Herbert  Quick. 


[vii] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 1 

II.     Common  Faults 43 

III.  Structure 84 

IV.  Character  vs.  Plot 140 

V.     Style  and  the  Classics 176 

VI.    How  Magazines  Differ 203 

VII.    A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 233 

Appendix 249 

Suggestions  for  Beginners 249 

Test  Questions 253 

A  List  of  American  Fiction  Magazines 255 

A  Few  Books  on  the  Short  Story ^ 257 

A  List  of  Representative  Short  Stories 258 

Index 265 


[ix] 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  SHORT  STORY 


THE   CONTEMPORARY 
SHORT  STORY 

CHAPTER   I 
ORIGINALITY:  KINDS  AND  METHODS 

Mr.  Hawthorne's  distinctive  trait  is  invention, 
creation,  imagination,  originality — a  trait  which,  in 
the  Uterature  of  fiction,  is  positively  worth  all  the 
rest.  .  .  .  The  inventive  or  original  mind  as  fre- 
quently displays  itself  in  novelty  of  tone  as  in  novelty 
of  matter.     Mr.  Hawthorne  is  original  at  all  points. 

— Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

It  ought  to  be  the  first  endeavour  of  a  writer  to 
distinguish  nature  from  custom;  or  that  which  is 
established  because  it  is  right,  from  that  which  is  right 
only  because  it  is  established.  —  Samuel  Johnson, 
The  Rambler. 

It  is  surely  not  unreasonable  to  expect  that 
a  writer  who  wishes  to  have  his  short  stories 
accepted  by  a  certain  magazine  shall  familiarize 
himself  with  some  of  the  fiction  previously 
printed  in  that  magazine  —  and  in  a  good  many 
others.  Yet  would-be  contributors  are  con- 
stantly offering  to  patient  editors  tales  whose 
plots  are  so  threadbare  that  to  print  them 
would  be  to  invite  ridicule  from  a  majority 

[1] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

of  subscribers.  The  first  duty  of  a  fiction 
writer  is  to  read  fiction  widely,  in  order  to 
avoid  the  hackneyed  and  the  trite.  Ask  any 
magazine  editor  what  kind  of  story  he  wants, 
and  he  will  tell  you,  in  effect,  that  he  wants 
the  story  that  is  "different,"  that  is  separated 
by  something  fresh  and  original  —  whether  in 
plot,  character,  dialogue,  or  atmosphere  —  from 
the  mediocre  manuscripts  that  deserve  nothing 
better  than  a  printed  rejection  slip.  Such 
originaUty  does  not  mean,  of  course,  a  plot 
original  in  its  entirety,  for  such  plots  were 
exhausted  long  ago.  It  means  permutations 
and  combinations  of  old  material  such  as  shall 
result  in  an  impression  of  originality,  especially 
at  the  close  of  the  story  —  the  place  where,  in 
short  fiction,  the  real  effect  on  the  reader  is 
almost  invariably  produced:  in  Maupassant's 
The  Necklace,  for  example. 

Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  declared,  somewhat  un- 
justly, that  even  Gulliver  s  Travels  reveals  no 
striking  originahty  of  plot;  that,  granted  the 
dwarfs  and  giants  of  the  first  two  parts,  every- 
thing follows  as  a  matter  of  course.  There  is, 
however,  nothing  very  like  Gulliver  in  literature, 
especially  in  its  last  two  parts;  and  that  is 
the  main  thing;    that  is,  to  speak  colloquially, 

[2] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

"the  answer."  Nobody  has  succeeded  in  writ- 
ing very  much  Hke  Jonathan  Swift;  and  few 
have  had  the  temerity  to  try.  That  unforget- 
table picture  of  those  luckless  immortals,  the 
Struldbrugs  —  as  vivid,  says  Leslie  Stephen, 
as  anything  in  Dante  or  Milton  —  is  alone 
enough  to  attest  Swift's  profound  originality 
in  the  realm  of  the  creative  imagination. 

The  originality  of  Shakespeare  evidently  did 
not  he  in  invention  of  plots,  which  he  "lifted" 
with  a  royal  hand,  but  in  creation  of  characters 
—  where,  unlike  so  many  popular  novelists  and 
short-story  writers  of  to-day,  he  never  repeats 
himself  —  and  in  associative  imagination,  in 
comparison  by  metaphor  and  simile.  Scott's 
title  to  eminence  now  rests  almost  entirely 
upbn  his  "colossal  creative  power."  Even  Poe 
reveals  inabiUty  to  do  more  than  a  few  things 
well  —  chiefly  the  horror  story  and  the  mystery 
tale.  In  the  latter  his  invention  and  ingenuity 
are  certainly  noteworthy. 

Examples  of  essential  originality  in  recent 
magazine  stories  by  various  authors  might  be 
multiplied;  but  a  few  will  serve.  John  Taintor 
Foote's  Ofus  43,  Number  6  ^  turns  upon  a 
famous  pianist's  pretence  of  ignorance  of  his 

1  Saturday  Evening  Post,  Feb.  13,  1915. 
[3] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

art  —  a  pretence  skilfully  maintained  in  order 
that  he  may  enjoy  the  company  of  the  young 
girl  whom  he  loves,  by  taking  piano  lessons 
from  her.  The  revelation  at  the  close  is  deftly 
managed  and  the  total  effect  is  highly  pleasing. 
Yet  there  is  no  attempt  at  a  completely  original 
plot.  What  is  revealed  is  simply  a  new  "twist" 
in  an  old  situation: 

He  moved  across  the  room  and  stood  uncertainly  by 
the  piano. 

"Lezzon?"  he  suggested  timidly. 

Miss  Hicks  wet  her  lips  with  the  tip  of  her  tongue.  She 
remained  behind  the  table. 

"Where  were  you  last  night?"  she  inquired. 

The  guilty  Leopold  grew  scarlet. 

That  restored  her  courage.  He  was  not  the  old  Scare- 
crow when  he  blushed  —  not  the  wonderful  though  mad 
being  who  turned  a  piano  into  a  choir  of  heavenly  voices. 
She  came  part  way  from  behind  the  table. 

"Why  have  you  been  coming  here.^"  she  demanded. 

"Muzeek  lessons,"  he  offered  weakly. 

Miss  Hicks  laughed  him  to  scorn.  She  withdrew 
altogether  from  the  protection  of  the  table  and  confronted 
him. 

"Music  lessons  —  your  grandmother!"  she  said.  "I 
was  at  Carnegie  Hall  last  night.  Now,  why  have  you 
been  coming  here?" 

Leopold  met  her  level  glance  and  quailed  to  his  marrow 
before  it.  He  could  deceive  her  no  longer!  AVhere  was 
he  to  find  words  to  tell  her?     It  would  have  been  a  terri- 

[4] 


Originality:   Kinds  and  Methods 

fying  task  in  warm  Hungarian.  In  his  limping,  con- 
temptible English  it  was  sacrilege  to  think  of  it.  He  looked 
in  dumb  hopelessness  about  the  poor,  dear  and  now  famil- 
iar room.  He  was  about  to  be  swept  out  of  it  forever.  His 
eyes  came  at  last  to  the  piano.     They  widened  slowly. 

"Seet  down!"  he  said  with  an  imploring  gesture. 

She  did  so,  wondering.  Leopold  sank  to  the  piano 
bench  and  gathered  a  great  sheaf  of  golden  notes  in  his 
hands. 

Outside,  the  plumber's  washing  danced  in  the  cold 
March  wind.  Over  the  court  wall  Miss  Hicks  could  see 
a  bare  and  lonely  tree.  Its  forlorn  background  was  a 
wind-swept  tenement  house. 

She  had  one  desolate  glimpse  of  all  this  —  then  it  was 
gone.  .  .  .  Rich  meadows,  velvet  green,  stretched  on 
and  on  before  her.  Her  nostrils  were  filled  with  the 
breath  of  newborn  violets.  Brooks  laughed.  Birds  sang. 
Butterflies  flashed  in  the  sunlight.  A  million  lovers  met 
and  kissed  —  for  Leopold  had  called  on  the  magic  of  the 
Scandinavian  gentleman. 

Miss  Hicks  was  stirred  by  nameless  longings,  sweet 
beyond  words  or  thought.  They  made  her  heart  flutter 
and  surge.     They  filled  her  throat  and  eyes. 

And  now  the  sun  went  down  and  a  yellow  moon  hung 
above  the  breathless  trees.  .  .  .  Leopold  had  done  it. 
Technically  he  was  improvising  on  the  theme  of  Opus 
43,  Number  6. 

In  reality  he  took  Miss  Hicks  by  the  hand  and  led 
her  to  a  moonlit  glade.  Then  he  whispered — whispered 
to  her,  while  nightingales  sang.  He  was  no  longer  funny. 
.  .  .  He  was  dear  beyond  all  earthly  things — her  own! 
Her  very  own! 

[5] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Suddenly  black  terror  seized  her  —  he  was  leaving  —  he 
was  gone!  .  .  .  She  looked  up  to  see  him  standing  by 
the  piano,  back  in  her  own  room. 

"Zat,  deer  von,"  he  said,  "ees  vy  I  kom!" 

Miss  Hicks  raised  one  hand  to  her  throat  —  tiny 
hammers  were  beating  there.  Her  eyes  were  no  longer 
frank  and  boyish.  They  had  become  deep  pools  of 
mystery. 

"I'm  —  glad  —  you  —  came!"  she  breathed,  and 
flushed  into  a  pink  glory. 

Leopold  discovered  that  his  arms  could  do  more  than 
sweep  from  end  to  end  of  the  keyboard. 

A  similar  new  "twist"  is  visible  in  a  powerful 
and  moving  tale  by  Henry  C.  Rowland,  The 
Copy-Cat,^  Here  a  man  of  unusual  strength 
but  feeble  courage,  who  has  sunk  to  the  level 
of  a  beachcomber,  suddenly  gains  the  necessary 
fortitude  to  win  a  fist  fight  by  seeing  his  re- 
cently acquired  dog  snarl  defiance  at  a  former 
owner  and  their  common  enemy,  a  brutal  sea 
captain.  The  animal,  a  thoroughbred,  imparts 
the  same  quality  to  his  new  master.  It  is  a 
vivid  moment  and  the  memory  of  it  remains 
with  the  reader: 

A  sudden  weakness  sapped  their  life  from  Bill's  great 
limbs.    His  knees   tottered,   his  arms  hung  hmp.    He 
looked  hopelessly  at  Matey,  and  then  his  hanging  jaw 
1  Saturday  Evening  Post,  May  18,  1907. 

[6] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

came  slowly  up  and  his  eyes  grew  fixed  and  staring, 
while  the  swaying  legs  slowly  stiffened  and  the  big  hands 
closed. 

For  the  dog,  his  first  panic  over,  had  pulled  himself 
together  —  as  Bill  had  tried  to  do,  and  failed.  Now, 
as  the  man's  eyes  fell  upon  the  hound,  they  read  in  the 
bulging  muscles,  bristling  hair,  and  bared,  glistening 
fangs,  not  fear,  but  rage  and  a  savage  and  stubborn  de- 
fiance. Even  as  Bill  watched.  Matey  sprang  forward  in 
a  series  of  short,  stiff-legged  bounds,  then  stood  with  his 
strong  neck  rigid,  his  bristling  tail  straight  out  —  and 
as  the  captain,  awed  for  the  moment  by  the  ferocity  of 
the  animal,  paused.  Matey  filled  his  deep  chest  and  roared 
out  a  booming  defiance  at  his  master's  foes  and  his! 

A  fierce  glow  of  exultation  set  Bill's  pulses  throbbing. 
In  a  flash  the  mantle  of  fear  fell  from  him.  He  had  needed 
only  the  impulse,  the  example,  the  suggestion,  and  Matey 
had  furnished  it,  and  again,  as  his  clarion  war-cry  bugled 
forth.  Bill  felt  a  thrilling  impulse  to  voice  his  own  defiance 
in  a  roar  that  should  rock  the  lofty  palms.  .  .  . 

The  attack,  when  it  came,  was  swift  and  terrible. 
With  the  scream  of  a  panther.  Bill  leaped  upon  his  foe. 
He  was  met  by  a  crashing  blow  which  glanced  from  the 
side  of  his  head  and  flung  him  to  the  sand,  but  almost  as 
he  struck  he  was  up  again  and  had  closed  with  another 
rush.  This  time  the  captain's  blow  fell  short,  and  the 
next  moment  Bill's  great  hands  had  found  the  captain's 
throat  and  the  huge,  bony  fingers  sank  into  it  until  the 
sailor's  breath  came  in  whistling  gasps.  In  vain  he  tried 
to  tear  loose  the  terrible  grip.  The  tense,  bulging  muscles 
were  like  the  weather  shrouds  of  a  ship.  He  struck  out 
wildly,  deahng  short,  heavy  blows,  and  presently  these 

[7] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

had  their  effect,  for  Bill  loosed  his  hold  and  sprang  clear 
again.  But  the  captain's  head  was  reeling  and  there 
were  black  flashes  before  his  eyes.  He  tottered  slightly, 
gasping  for  breath,  and  then  the  huge,  springing  figure 
was  upon  him  again,  this  time  as  a  human  flail  which 
dealt  crushing,  devitahzing  blows  on  head  and  face  and 
body,  until  the  captain,  groping  and  striking  blindly, 
reeled,  tottered  and  fell. 

It  is  probable  that  he  might  have  lost  his  life  beneath 
the  terrible  chastisement  had  there  not  come  a  diversion. 
Seeing  the  champion  overthrown,  the  rabble  began  to 
stir  and  mutter  as  if  forming  for  a  concerted  attack.  The 
movement  caught  Bill's  lurid  eye,  and  in  a  transfiguration 
of  Olympic  wrath  he  whipped  up  a  stake  which  was  lying 
near  and  descended  upon  them.  Fortunately,  his  cudgel 
was  of  no  great  dimensions  or  the  mortality  might  have 
mounted  high.  As  it  was,  all  escaped  alive,  the  burden 
of  the  punishment  falling  on  the  shipping  agent, 
Mendoza. 

If  in  some  one  element  a  story  is  thus  memo- 
rable through  originality,  that  is  enough.  It 
will  satisfy  the  reading  public;  and  this  means 
that  it  will  satisfy  the  editor.  A  fiction  maga- 
zine lives  to  please  and  must  please  in  order  to 
live.  The  editor  merely  feels  the  public  pulse. 
*' You  can  kill  your  magazine,"  says  a  prominent 
editor,  "by  one  poor  issue."  If  his  circulation 
drops,  he  knows  that  his  contributors'  short 
stories  have  not  shown  enough  freshness  and 

[8] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

originality  to  induce  readers  to  keep  on  buying 
his  periodical  at  the  news  stands.  The  old- 
style  millionaire's  attitude,  "the  public  be 
damned!"  has  nothing  in  common  with  the 
attitude  of  a  successful  editor.  He  must  be  a 
barometer  of  the  changes  in  public  taste  and 
must  alter  his  plans  at  the  first  symptom  of 
those  changes. 

In  jthe  best  short  stories  of  the  day  there  is 
not  only  essential  originality  but  also  something 
more  than  brainless  entertainment.  There  is  a 
soUd  kernel  of  thought,  often  a  big  idea,  back 
of  the  narrative.  Such  a  short  story  is  much 
more  likely  to  deserve  preservation  in  a  volume 
than  the  "whipped  syllabub"  of  the  extremely 
hght  entertainer  —  the  modern  descendant  of 
the  Court  Fool.  A  good  short  story  must 
indeed  be  entertaining,  but  it  may  be  something 
more  without  degenerating  into  a  sermon  or  a 
treatise.  In  his  early  work,  Henry  James  was 
entertaining,  though  in  his  later  period  he  was  an 
excellent  example  of  how  not  to  write  fiction  for 
popular  consumption.  Even  what  Matthew 
Arnold  said  of  the  Greeks  is  not  inapplicable 
to  the  modern  short  story: 

Their  theory  and  practice  alike;  the  admirable  treatise 
of  Aristotle,  and  the  unrivalled  works  of  their  poets, 

[9] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

exclaim  with  a  thousand  tongues  —  "All  depends  upon 
the  subject;  choose  a  fitting  action,  penetrate  yourself 
with  a  feehng  of  its  situations;  this  done,  everything 
else  wiU  follow.^" 

Ward  Muir's  Sunrise  ^  furnishes  an  almost 
extraordinary  illustration  of  this  doctrine  of 
the  subject.  A  beautiful  girl  in  China  who, 
having  lived  always  underground,  has  never 
seen  the  sun,  is  taken  out  of  her  surroundings 
by  her  lover,  at  night,  and  the  next  morning 
beholds  her  first  sunrise.  She  beUeves  that  she 
has  looked  upon  the  very  face  of  God;  and  the 
shock  causes  her  death.  She  dies  happy,  how- 
ever, though  her  lover  is  left  distracted: 

I  raised  my  eyes  from  Kima's  kneeling  figure,  and 
saw  —  the  sun. 

It  was  a  burnished  ball,  emerging,  as  I  looked,  from  a 
bed  of  fog.  Moment  by  moment  it  grew  more  distinct, 
more  and  more  fiery.  The  clouds  were  furhng  off  from 
it  like  ornate  curtains  drawn  from  before  an  immense  and 
inconceivable  furnace.  Its  rays  were  drinking  the  vapors 
from  the  abysses,  Uke  steam.  And  then  I  saw  the  sun 
as  an  Eye. 

I  stood,  staring  and  dizzy;  and  beside  me  I  heard  a 
movement.  Kima  had  risen  from  her  knees,  and  was 
standing  too,  confronting  the  sun.  Her  body  was  strung 
taut  and  quivering.  The  light,  beating  upon  us  ever 
brighter  and  brighter,  was  round  her  Hke  a  halo. 

1  Preface  to  Poems  of  1853.  2  McClure's,  Oct.,  1914. 

[10] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

"What  is  this?"  The  words  burst  from  her  in  a  cry 
of  awe.     ''WhatisXhisV 

The  sun  swam  clear  of  the  clouds.  Its  full  force  rained 
upon  us.     And  suddenly  I  heard  Kima  again: 

''I  must  look!'' 

With  a  gesture  at  once  sublime  and  despairing,  she  tore 
the  bandage  from  her  brow. 

I  was  paralyzed.  I  knew  —  knew  —  that  Kima  was 
lost  to  me;  but  I  could  not  move. 

She  gazed,  entranced,  for  one  tremendous  moment, 
full  into  the  face  of  the  sun,  then  fell  on  her  knees,  and 
in  an  abandonment  of  adulation  prostrated  herself  to  the 
ground,  her  hands  outspread  in  abject  reverence.  .  .  . 

At  last,  with  an  effort  that  was  pain,  I  bent  down  and 
touched  her. 

She  paid  no  heed. 

I  tried  to  raise  her. 

She  was  inert.  She  slipped  sideways  in  my  hands,  and 
I  saw  her  face. 

It  was  the  face  of  one  who  had  beheld  in  the  firmament 
a  radiance  unimaginable.  Its  dazzling  and  calamitous 
grandeur  had  stricken  her  to  the  earth,  and  stunned  her 
in  her  adoration  of  its  peerless  majesty.  She  had  lifted 
up  her  eyes  to  the  glistering  portent  of  the  risen  sun; 
she  had  rested  them  upon  that  stupefying  blaze;  she  had 
seen  the  light  ineffable.  She  had  looked  upon  the  sun's 
magnificence,  and  the  luster  of  its  flaming  was  too  dire 
to  be  borne.  In  that  unendurable  splendor  she  had 
thought  she  saw  God.  And,  in  the  terror  and  bliss  of 
that  revelation,  her  soul  had  been  set  free. 

Kima  was  dead! 

[11] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

A  strong  contrast  to  this  story,  in  subject,  is 
to  be  seen  in  Freeman  Tilden's  satirical  tale. 
The  Defective,^  which  turns  upon  a  supposed 
defective's  discovery  that  presumably  sane  peo- 
ple who  were  tango-mad,  bridge-mad,  and  so 
forth,  were  in  reality  worse  off  mentally  than 
he.  In  despair,  he  finally  takes  refuge  again  in 
the  asylum  from  which  he  had  been  discharged 
as  cured!  The  originaUty  here  lies  quite  as 
much  in  skilful  treatment  as  in  the  subject. 
No  outUne  can  do  justice  to  this  uncommonly 
humorous  tale.  It  has,  in  a  high  degree,  both 
spontaneity  and  sophistication. 

Corra  Harris'  Justice  ^  is  a  story  whose  orig- 
inaUty depends  upon  a  powerful  arraignment 
of  the  man-made  equity  of  law-courts.  A 
woman  kills  her  husband,  under  circumstances 
such  that  she  is  acquitted  —  after  being  ably 
defended  by  a  woman  lawyer  who  intuitively 
divines  all  her  wrongs  and  lays  them  before  the 
jury.  It  is  a  suffrage  story,  and  Mrs.  Harris' 
thesis  is:  "Men  are  lawless,  and  always  will  be, 
to  a  certain  Umit  which  they  determine  them- 
selves, and  our  system  of  law,  which  is  fictitious, 

1  Smart  Set,  March,  1914;  reprinted  in  That  Night,  and  Other 
Satires. 

'  Good  Housekeeping,  May,  1915. 

[12] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

is  the  only  one  they'll  stand,  because  it  is  fic- 
titious!" 

Gertrude  Atherton's  unusual  and  thrilling 
character  study,  The  Sacrificial  Altar,^  portrays 
an  intellectual  young  novelist  who  is  trying  to 
injed:  some  passion  into  his  work.  He  fails  to 
fall  in  love  with  a  beautiful  girl  whom  a  friend 
has  selected  for  him,  but  suddenly  conceives 
the  idea  of  stealing  upon  her  in  sleep,  defying 
her  scorn  "for  a  few  poignant  moments"  when 
she  awakes,  and  then  rushing  forth,  ''repulsed 
and  quite  mad,  to  weep  upon  his  floor  until 
dawn!"  When  he  sees  her  asleep,  however, 
he  does  not  feel  any  thrill.  He  is  profoundly 
disappointed.  Then  he  decides  to  give  her  a 
little  fright.  He  places  a  pillow  over  her  head, 
intending  to  release  it  quickly.  But  a  madness 
of  homicide  seizes  him.  At  last  his  emotional 
nature  is  aroused !  He  holds  the  pillow  over  the 
face  of  his  victim  and  represses  her  struggles. 
After  she  is  dead,  he  calmly  returns  to  his  rooms 
—  and  starts  a  novel,  the  best  that  he  has 
written.  When  he  has  finished  it,  he  confesses 
his  crime  to  an  intimate  friend,  who  will  not 
believe  him.  So,  in  expiation,  he  commits  sui- 
cide in  the  tomb  of  his  ancestors.     In  outUne, 

*  Harjper's,  August,  1916. 
[13] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

the  tale  does  not  sound  plausible;  but  Mrs. 
Atherton's  art  in  the  complete  story  is  fully 
adequate  to  her  task.  The  originaUty  hes  in  the 
psychology,  in  the  portrayal  of  an  eccentric  but 
gifted  artist  nature  seized  by  an  obsession  and 
hurried  to  tragic  consequence.  The  depth  and 
power  of  this  story  justify  Mrs.  Atherton's 
high  place  in  American  fiction. 

KipUng's  tales  are  full  of  original  ideas  — 
William  the  Conqueror,  The  Man  Who  Would 
Be  King,  They,  and  so  on  almost  ad  libitum,  A 
very  suggestive  title,  which  fully  justifies  itself, 
is  WilUam  H.  Hamby's  A  Big  Idea  in  the  Back- 
woods.^ The  story  grows  out  of  the  solution, 
by  an  alert  young  man  —  aided  by  the  advice 
and  encouragement  of  a  pretty  girl  —  of  the  prob- 
lem of  a  bond  issue  authorized  by  three  county 
court  judges  in  Missouri  but  never  paid  for 
by  the  county.  The  promise  of  a  railroad  had 
been  the  lure  —  also  a  bribe  to  each  of  the  three 
judges.  The  voters  had  decHned  to  authorize 
the  payment  of  either  principal  or  interest, 
and  the  matter  had  dragged  on  for  thirty  years, 
the  original  amount,  $400,000,  having  been 
increased  by  the  interest  to  $1,500,000.  The 
alert  young  man  went  to  New  York,  induced 

1  Saturday  Evening  Post,  Nov.  9,  1912. 
[14] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

the  purchaser  of  the  bonds  to  compromise  for 
$400,000,  then  announced  to  the  county  an 
offer  of  $500,000,  succeeded  in  winning  enough 
votes  at  a  special  election  —  and  thus  made 
for  himself  the  tidy  sum  of  $100,000  minus 
expenses.  It  was  good  business  both  for  him 
and  for  the  voters,  since  he  had  been  able  to 
show  that  refusal  to  settle,  during  the  period  of 
thirty  years,  had  cost  the  county  a  loss  of  $7,400,- 
000  in  farm  values  and  $1,600,000  in  business 
values.  "A  county,  like  an  individual,"  said 
the  young  financier,  "cannot  always  go  on  not 
paying  its  debts.  The  only  way  we  have  done 
it  so  far  is  by  keeping  our  assessments  so  low  we 
barely  have  money  to  carry  on  in  a  poor  way 
the  county's  business.  The  only  way  we  can 
hope  to  avoid  it  in  the  future  is  by  remaining 
so  poor  there  is  no  revenue  left  for  the  courts 
to  seize."  So  the  voters  bought  back  their 
self-respect.  This  is  virtually  a  business  article 
served  up  in  entertaining  fiction  form.  It  is  a 
type  of  story  pecuUarly  characteristic  of  the 
Post  and  reflects  our  American  absorption  in 
commercial  affairs. 

A  very  different  sort  of  originality  is  shown 
in  Joseph  Conrad's  notable  mystery  tale  —  for 
nearly  everything  that  Mr.   Conrad  writes  is 

[15] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

notable  —  The  Shadow  Line,^  A  young  captain 
takes  charge  of  his  first  vessel.  His  initial 
feehng  of  joy,  in  which  he  thinks  of  the  ship  as 
an  enchanted  princess  waiting  for  him  to  dehver 
her,  gives  place  to  some  shght  foreboding  when 
he  learns  that  the  previous  skipper  died  in  strange 
circumstances  and  that  the  crew  seem  to  be 
under  some  spell  of  fear.  The  impression  which 
the  chief  mate  leaves  upon  him  is  powerfully 
indicated  in  the  following  passage: 

Suddenly  I  perceived  that  there  was  another  man  in 
the  saloon,  standing  a  little  on  one  side  and  looking  in- 
tently at  me.  The  chief  mate.  I  was  vexed  and  discon- 
certed. His  long  red  mustache  determined  the  character 
of  his  physiognomy,  which  struck  me  as  pugnacious. 

How  long  had  he  been  looking  at  me,  appraising  me 
in  my  unguarded  day-dreaming  state?  I  could  not  have 
been  in  that  cabin  more  than  two  minutes  altogether. 
Say  three.  ...  So  he  could  not  have  been  watching  me 
more  than  a  mere  fraction  of  a  minute,  luckily.  Still,  I 
regretted  the  occurrence.  But  I  showed  nothing  of  it 
as  I  rose  leisurely  (it  had  to  be  leisurely)  and  greeted  him 
with  perfect  friendliness. 

There  was  something  reluctant  and  at  the  same  time 
attentive  in  his  bearing.  His  name  was  Burns.  We 
left  the  saloon  and  went  round  the  ship  together.  His 
face  in  the  full  light  of  day  appeared  very  pale,  meager, 
even  haggard.  Somehow  I  had  a  delicacy  as  to  looking 
1  Metropolitan,  Sept -Oct.,  1916. 
[16] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

too  often  at  him;  his  eyes,  on  the  contrary,  seemed 
fairly  glued  on  my  face.  They  were  greenish  and  had 
not  much  expression. 

He  answered  all  my  questions  readily  enough,  but  my 
ear  seemed  to  catch  a  tone  of  unwillingness.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  sort  of  earnestness  in  the  situation  which 
began  to  make  me  feel  uncomfortable. 

In  this  story,  atmosphere  and  style  count 
for  much.  Mr.  Conrad,  Hke  Poe,  has  an  almost 
hypnotic  effect  on  his  reader.  The  impression 
produced  by  his  most  somber  masterpieces  re- 
calls Whitman's  phrase,  "the  huge  and  thought- 
ful night."  They  are  quite  unlike  those  of  any 
other  living  writer  —  stamped  with  personality 
and  with  hterary  quality  of  the  highest  order. 

Such  stories  are  not  turned  off  every  week, 
even  by  an  expert.  A  short-story  writer  is 
fortunate  if  he  gets  three  or  four  really  big  ideas 
for  a  tale  in  a  year;  his  other  stories,  if  he  writes, 
say,  one  a  month,  will  have  to  depend  more  upon 
execution  than  upon  conception.  The  ambitious 
young  writer  should  remember  that,  particu- 
larly during  his  first  three  or  four  years  of  appren- 
ticeship, only  his  exceptional  tales  are  likely  to 
find  editorial  favor.  Moreover,  most  authors 
under  twenty-five  years  of  age  had  better  not 
be  writing  short  stories  at  all  —  for  magazine 

[17] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

publication.  At  one-and-twenty  they  can 
hardly  have  enough  knowledge  of  Ufe  to  produce 
worth-while  fiction,  can  hardly  have  developed 
enough  personahty  to  be  really  individual  — 
which,  after  all,  is  what  it  means  to  be  original. 
Guy  de  Maupassant  did  not  begin  to  publish 
imtil  he  was  thirty.  Kipling,  an  important 
exception,  "broke  into  print"  at  twenty-three 
with  Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills  and,  if  one  judges 
him  by  a  single  volume,  reached  his  highest 
point  as  a  short-story  writer  at  twenty-six  in 
Life's  Handicap.  Many  a  successful  writer  of 
short  fiction  —  for  example,  Charles  E.  Van 
Loan  —  has  not  attained  success  until  he  was 
nearer  forty  than  twenty.  Mr.  Van  Loan  was 
for  many  years  a  sporting  editor  on  a  news- 
paper, and  his  excellent  baseball  stories  are  an 
indirect  result  of  that  training. 

Just  as  many  a  minor  poet  is  famous  for  a 
single  poem,  so  many  a  short-story  writer 
achieves  fame  by  only  a  single  tale.  Edward 
Everett  Hale's  name  is  coupled  w^ith  The  Man 
Without  a  Country,  In  some  cases  this  one  story 
has  perhaps  contained  the  author's  only  truly 
original  idea,  his  contribution  to  the  none-too- 
extensive  list  of  stories  that  are  "different." 
Any  reader  who  follows  for  several  years  every 

[18] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

issue  of  a  highly  popular  magazine  Uke  the 
Saturday  Evening  Post  will  note  that  some 
writers  appear  frequently,  others  rarely,  and 
still  others  only  a  single  time.  In  the  case 
of  the  authors  who  appear  oftenest,  a  distinct 
falling-off  in  originality  may  every  now  and 
then  be  discerned.  Irvin  S.  Cobb  once  started 
a  series  of  mystery  tales  in  the  Post,  with  the 
scene  in  New  York  City,  the  general  title  of 
the  series  to  be  The  Island  of  Adventure.  The 
first  two  tales  went  very  well;  but  the  series 
was  cut  off  in  its  prime.  Mr.  Cobb  ran  out 
of  ideas.  He  himself  humorously  said  that 
it  was  because  he  knew  too  much  about  New 
York.  Inventiveness  cannot  be  forced;  and 
it  is  only  a  real  genius,  like  Kipling  in  his 
prime,  who  can  be  both  highly  prolific  and 
highly  original.  The  unevenness  of  the  Sher- 
lock Holmes  tales  is  recognized  by  everybody 
save  the  blindest  worshipper;  and  Arthur  B. 
Reeve's  ingenious  tales  of  Craig  Kennedy, 
*' scientific  detective,"  creak  audibly  now  and 
then  in  their  machinery. 

From  the  standpoint  of  immediate  popular 
success,  there  is,  of  course,  such  a  thing  as  too 
much  originality.  Even  Kipling  and  Conan 
Doyle  bombarded  editors  in  vain  for  more  than 

[19] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

one  year.  Their  daring  imagination  produced 
stories  so  individual  that  editors  hardly  knew 
what  to  make  of  them.^  The  fact  is  that  your 
editor  is  generally  a  timid  creature.  If  he  has 
convictions  —  and  not  always  does  he  possess 
strong  ones  —  he  does  not  invariably  have  the 
courage  of  his  convictions.  He  may  be  afflicted 
with  what  Saintsbury  calls  kainophobia  —  fear 
of  the  new  and  strange.  But  Kiphng,  with  the 
persistence  of  genius,  finally  made  editors  and 
book  publishers  see  that  tales  of  India,  if  suffi- 
ciently well  written,  were  not  anathema  to  the 
multitude;  and  when,  after  disappointing  ex- 
periences with  other  kinds  of  stories,  Conan 
Doyle  got  A  Study  in  Scarlet,  the  first  of  the 
Sherlock  Holmes  series,  accepted  he  instantly 
had  the  public  at  his  feet.  "It's  dogged  as  does 
it."  In  the  Strand  Magazine  (October,  1915) 
a  well-known  author  says  of  his  early  struggles : 

As  some  slight  encouragement  to  those  writers  who 
find  their  days  of  success  somewhat  tardy  in  arriving,  I 
might  mention  that  I  was  writing  for  five  years  and  longer 
before  I  ever  earned  a  dollar  with  my  pen.  I  wrote  con- 
tinuously and  determinedly,  and  though  my  stories  came 
back  to  me  with  a  promptness  that  was  almost  bewilder- 

^  "Every  author,  so  far  as  he  is  great  and  at  the  same  time 
original,  has  had  the  task  of  creating  the  taste  by  which  he  is  to  be 
enjoyed."  —  Wordsworth. 

[20] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

ing,  I  was  not  discouraged.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
be  an  author,  and  an  author  I  knew  I  should  become  — 
one  day.  It  is  rather  surprising  that  during  the  whole 
of  those  first  five  years  I  never  received  the  faintest  hint 
of  encouragement.  I  just  went  doggedly  ahead,  and  as 
soon  as  a  manuscript  came  back  I  took  it  out  of  its  wrap- 
per, threw  the  inevitable  rejection  slip  into  the  waste- 
paper  basket,  re-enveloped  the  story,  and  sent  it  on  its 
travels  once  more.  During  those  years  I  must  have 
written  hundreds  of  stories  which  I  should  have  been 
very  glad  to  have  sold  for  a  few  dollars  each.  After  I 
had  achieved  success  I  disposed  of  all  those  stories  for 
very  excellent  sums.  So  the  years  of  rejection  were  not 
so  unprofitable  after  all. 

The  writer  who  becomes  downcast  after  a 
few  rejections  should  find  out  how  his  betters, 
like  Conan  Doyle,  fared  during  their  appren- 
ticeship. If  he  is  sure  he  has  talent,  and  not 
merely  egotism  (he  can  decide  this  by  offering 
his  manuscript  for  criticism  to  some  one  besides 
his  intimate  friends),  let  him  persist;  he  will 
*' arrive."  But  it  is  only  occasionally  that  an 
author,  as  in  the  case  of  Myra  Kelly,  has  her  first 
story  accepted  by  an  important  magazine.  Even 
decided  originaHty  must  be  supplemented  by 
technique. 

Anyone  who  peruses  carefully  Horace  Fish's 
vivid  story  of  conscience.  The  Inward  Empire ^^ 

^  Everybody's,  February,  1914. 

[21] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

will  perceive  that  its  author  possesses,  for  story 
purposes,  too  much  imagination  rather  than  too 
Uttle.  His  task  will  evidently  be  to  harness 
that  imagination  to  editorial  requirements.  He 
is  too  fond  of  the  psychic,  of  dwelling  upon 
phantoms  not  dreamed  of  in  the  philosophy 
of  the  average  magazine  reader  —  who  is  not, 
after  all,  a  very  intellectual  person.  He  or  she 
is  quite  hkely  to  be  a  shoe-clerk  or  a  shopgirl 
who  never  heard  of  Ibsen  but  knows  a  good 
deal  about  those  naughty  serials  by  Robert  W. 
Chambers.  But  even  such  a  reader  is  likely 
to  enjoy  a  splendidly  original  story  of  action 
and  "the  bright  face  of  danger,"  such  as  Donn 
Byrne's  Superdirigible  ''Gamma-I/'^  an  imag- 
inary episode  of  the  European  War.  Sugges- 
tive of  Kipling  in  its  brilliant  handling  of 
technicaUties  and  its  vivid  choice  of  words,  it 
shows  what  a  daringly  original  young  writer  can 
do  when  kindled  by  a  congenial  theme.  The 
commander  of  an  Enghsh  dirigible  similar  to 
the  German  Zeppelins  decides  to  bombard 
the  railway  station,  bridge,  and  forts  of  Mainz 
by  night.  The  description  of  the  trip  and  of 
the  accomphshment  of  its  object  reveals  an 
imagination  and  style  which  place  the  young 

*  Scribner's,  August,  1916. 
[22] 


Originality:   Kinds  and  Methods 

author  far  above  an  average  magazine  level. 
Its  accuracy  of  detail  and  its  astonishing  vision 
of  the  possibilities  of  air  warfare  indicate  talent 
which  carries  on  a  literary  tradition  and  adds 
to  it  a  distinct  individuality  and  method.  I 
quote  a  short  passage  which  illustrates  the 
author's  fine  use  of  comparisons: 

The  navigator  swung  over  the  river.  Four  thousand 
feet  below,  the  bridge  showed  over  the  black  ribbon  of 
the  Rhine  hke  a  plank  over  a  rivulet.  Meriwell  watched 
it  with  the  eye  of  a  cat  ready  to  spring  on  a  mouse.  .  .  . 

"Heave  on!"  he  yelled  suddenly. 

The  dirigible  lifted  violently  like  a  canoe  struck  by  a 
great  wave.  There  was  a  loud  whirring  in  the  air  as  the 
bombs  dropped  downward.  Meriwell  felt  his  heart 
jump  to  his  mouth.  He  peered  over  the  edge  breath- 
lessly, his  hands  gripping  the  rail  with  sudden  fear.  Me- 
chanically he  opened  his  mouth  to  protect  his  ear-drums 
from  the  report,  and  as  he  did  a  vast  wave  of  orange 
flame,  like  discolored  sheet  lightning,  seemed  to  flick 
along  the  river.  For  a  moment,  soundless,  the  river  rose 
in  its  bed  as  if  struck  by  a  mighty  hand.  The  great 
stone  bridge  disappeared  as  if  kicked  away. 

"My  God!"  said  Meriwell  hoarsely,  "my  God!" 

Then  suddenly  noise  struck  him  between  the  shoulder- 
blades,  noise  such  as  he  could  hardly  beheve  possible  — 
an  infinitude  of  sound  that  rocked  him  like  a  crashing 
blow,  a  sound  as  of  two  planets  meeting  in  mid-course, 
a  gigantic  forbidden  thing,  that  only  gods  should  make. 

"The  bridge  is  gone,"  said  Meriwell  stupidly. 
[23] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Among  dozens  of  war  stories  read  in  manu- 
script and  in  current  magazines  by  the  present 
writer,  this  stands  out  as  one  of  the  two  or 
three  really  powerful  and  memorable  tales.  It 
is  the  work  of  an  artist  rather  than  a  mere 
journalist.  Such  young  men  may  go  far  if  they 
remain  true  to  the  traditions  of  Kjpling  and 
Stevenson  and  Hawthorne  and  Poe. 

Wait  for  an  idea.  That  is  the  starting  point 
of  any  good  story.  And  it  is  quite  as  likely  to 
come  during  a  walk  to  the  postoffice,  or  in  a 
wakeful  hour  at  night,  or  over  the  dessert  and 
cigars,  or  (in  the  case  of  the  ladies)  during  the 
powdering  of  a  nose,  as  after  much  pondering 
and  much  knitting  of  brows.  Having  snatched 
the  idea  out  of  the  reluctant  ether,  jot  it  down  at 
once.  It  is  often  fatal  not  to  have  a  notebook 
at  hand.  Like  time  and  tide,  plots  wait  for  no 
man.  "Be  good  and  you  will  be  lonesome," 
reflected  Mark  Twain;  and  the  chances  are  that 
he  put  it  down  in  his  little  book  —  though  I 
beheve  he  never  used  it  for  a  story.  In  his 
hands  it  would  have  made  a  hugely  entertain- 
ing one. 

The  peril  of  putting  off  is  illustrated  in  the 
case  of  O.  Henry.  In  a  conversation  with 
Freeman  Tilden  one  day,  he  said,  "Sometime 

[24] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

I'm  going  to  write  a  story  about  a  boy  spoiled 
by  good  influences."  He  died  before  he  carried 
out  the  resolution.  So  Mr.  Tilden,  borrowing 
merely  this  vague  outline  of  a  story  idea,  wrote 
it  himself/  with  a  racy  originality  that  would 
have  delighted  the  heart  of  O.  Henry.  A  young 
baseball  hero  whose  mother  supports  him  is 
induced  by  a  fashionable  lady  "uplifter"  of 
the  village  to  take  a  regular  job.  What  happens 
is  tragi-comedy  of  the  most  entertaining  sort. 
It  is  full  of  Mr.  Tilden's  personality  and  quite 
unlike  anybody  else.  You  may  spell  its  orig- 
inahty  with  a  capital  0  and  not  be  far  wrong. 
Its  kernel  of  Yankee  philosophy  is  as  solid  and 
convincing  as  a  league  baseball.  I  quote  two 
passages  that  illustrate  the  character  drawing 
and  the  technique  of  the  close: 

Duff's  father  was  a  hard-working  man.  His  step- 
father was  a  loafer.  In  some  strange  manner  which  the 
exponents  of  the  theory  of  heredity  will  no  doubt  explain 
satisfactorily,  Duff  inherited  from  his  stepfather  rather 
than  from  his  sire.  At  any  rate,  Duff  was  a  born  loafer. 
He  was  the  kind  of  loafer  that  is  prevented  from  working 
by  sheer  excess  of  vitality.  He  was  the  loafer  premier 
of  the  neighborhood  around  Jackson  Park.  He  was  so 
utterly  accomplished  that,  after  a  few  misdirected  at- 

*  The  Good  Influence:  Smart  Set;  reprinted  in  That  Night,  and 
Other  Satires. 

[25] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

tempts  to  seduce  him  from  this  occupation,  the  trades- 
men and  employers  ceased  to  dream  of  him  as  a  laboring 
factor. 

Nature  had  fitted  Duff  to  be  captain  of  the  Rusty 
Dippers;  or,  in  fact,  leader  in  any  unproductive  diversion. 

Nature  had  not  thought  of  Duff  Cassidy  as  a  useful, 
moral,  or  intellectual  citizen. 

In  his  sphere.  Duff  was  a  constant  and  consummate 
success.  Unless  you  reaUze  this,  you  will  not  understand 
his  downfall,  which  began  on  the  last  day  of  May,  1911, 
with  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  de  Ruyter  in  the  vicinage 
of  Jackson  Park. 

The  Rusty  Dippers  and  Shiny  Cups  still  play  ball 
every  pleasant  afternoon  in  Jackson  Park,  but  Duff 
Cassidy  is  not  there.  I  think  he  is  working  for  a  grocer 
over  on  Hastings  Street;  that  is,  working  sometimes. 
He  has  all  the  primitive  vices,  and  some  others;  but  he 
has  lost  all  the  primitive  virtues.  He  does  not  loaf  any 
more;  he  does  not  know  how;  he  does  not  dare  to;  he 
just  sneaks  a  few  minutes  now  and  then  furtively.  He 
is  ruined  for  life. 

I  accuse  nobody  in  particular  of  Duff's  downfall.  I 
suppose  it  may  be  attributed  to  chance.  But  I  think  it 
rather  excessive,  rather  superfluous,  for  Mrs.  de  Ruyter 
to  say,  as  she  said  when  she  returned  from  Europe  and 
learned  the  facts: 

"Ifs  really  too  bad,  after  all  I  did  for  thai  young  man." 

The  art  of  this  story,  like  most  good  art  in 
satire,  is  a  little  over  the  head  of  the  average 

[26] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

subscriber  to  the  Post;  but  it  is  a  fair  question 
whether  there  is  not  enough  pure  story  interest, 
and  humor  as  distinguished  from  satire,  to  hold 
even  Mr.  Average  Subscriber.  One  of  Mr. 
Tilden's  stories,  at  any  rate,  was  pubhshed  in 
Collier's,^  which  has  a  circulation  of  more  than 
800,000.  As  Mark  Twain  and  O.  Henry  have 
proved,  satire  can  be  adapted  to  the  average 
man;  only,  you  must  be  cautious  in  handling 
it.  Certainly  you  must  beware  of  delicate  irony. 
Defoe,  who  could  write  plainly  enough  when  he 
wanted  to  —  in  Robinson  Crusoe,  for  example 
—  wrote  a  religious  pamphlet.  The  Shortest 
Way  with  the  Dissenters,  so  ironical  that  his 
political  opponents  took  it  for  a  serious  argu- 
ment in  their  favor.  They  were  so  enraged  when 
they  discovered  the  joke  that  one  of  their  influ- 
ential leaders  had  Defoe  jailed  for  the  offense. 
Some  of  the  New  York  Nation's  ironical 
editorials  are  nearly  as  difficult  for  the  non- 
elect    to  understand. 

One  of  the  highest  kinds  of  originality  —  typi- 
fied, in  the  novel,  by  Jane  Austen  and  Thack- 
eray and  in  the  drama  by  many  a  realistic  scene 
in  Shakespeare  —  is  that  which  gives  an  impres- 

1  Artistic  Temperament,  May  1,  1915;  reprinted  in  That  Night,  and 
Other  Satires. 

[27] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

sion  of  real  life  by  (apparently)  treating  common 
things  in  a  common  way.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
difficult  of  tasks  and,  when  well  done,  one  of  the 
surest  indications  of  genius.  Burns  did  it  su- 
premely well  in  poetry.  Crabbe,  a  contempo- 
rary, proved  a  dismal  failure.  His  real  Ufe  bores 
where  that  of  Burns  enchants.  All  ambitious 
story -writers  would  do  w^ell  to  read  a  good  deal 
of  Burns  —  and  of  various  other  modern  poets 
likewise,  such  as  Tennyson,  Keats,  Browning, 
and  Wordsworth.  It  would  stimulate  their 
imagination  and  their  abihty  to  express  emotion, 
as  well  as  lend  pohsh  to  their  style;  for  good 
poetry  is,  as  some  critic  has  said,  ''the  most 
perfect  speech  of  man."  Many  a  successful 
writer  has  found  the  reading,  for  an  hour  or 
so,  of  a  congenial  author  who  is  a  little  better 
than  himseK  a  useful  preliminary  to  immediate 
composition.  To  a  mind  that  has  not  a  "self- 
starter"  it  often  supphes  a  serviceable  crank. 
But  everyone  to  his  own  method.  David  Gra- 
ham Phillips  worked  best  standing  at  a  high 
desk,  Uke  a  bookkeeper;  and  he  was  highly 
individual  in  other  respects. 

In  a  letter  to  the  present  writer  Frank  Goewey 
Jones,  author  of  the  Bigelow  and  Judkins  stories 
in  McClure's,  modestly  said  that  he  couldn't 

[28] 


Originality:   Kinds  and  Methods 

just  see  why  editors  wanted  his  tales,  for  they 
seemed  to  him  to  treat  ordinary  things  in  a 
very  ordinary  way.  Ah!  that  is  one  of  the 
great  secrets  of  good  writing  —  not  to  be  too 
pretentious,  not  to  attempt  '"fine  writing" 
and  ultra-romantic  atmosphere.  He  who  ''sees 
life  steadily  and  sees  it  whole"  may  tell  what 
he  sees,  in  very  simple  language,  yet  with  pro- 
found effect.  Something  of  this  Mr.  Jones 
has  accomplished  in  his  true-to-life  stories  of 
the  stenographer,  the  office  boy,  and  the  self- 
important,  irascible  employer.  Show  us  life 
as  it  is,  people  as  they  are,  and  you  are  always 
original;  for  no  section  of  this  absorbing  human 
life  of  ours  is  quite  like  any  other.  When  a 
writer  stiffens  into  conventionalities,  he  is  no 
longer  rendering  his  own  view  of  life.  He 
has  become  a  decadent.  But  so  long  as  he 
avoids  it  —  as  Charles  E.  Van  Loan  and  Booth 
Tarkington  avoid  it  —  editors  will  wear  a  path 
to  his  door.  You  will  always  find  at  least  two 
or  three  claiming  the  honor  of  having  first  dis- 
covered an  author  who  afterward  attained  fame 
—  O.  Henry,  for  example. 

Myra  Kelly's  stories  of  school  children  on 
New  York's  East  Side  have  this  loving  fideHty 
to  life,  this  treating  common  things  in  a  com- 

[29] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

mon  way.  There  is  selection,  of  course,  and 
heightening  of  certain  effects;  but  the  impres- 
sion is  a  true  one.  Really  original  reahsm  is 
never  purely  photographic.  Miss  Kelly  left 
out  a  good  many  uninteresting  items  in  her 
daily  routine;  but  she  proved  once  for  all  that 
a  teacher's  Ufe  is  not  necessarily  humdrum  — 
that  there  are  stories  everywhere,  crying  to  be 
written  or  waiting  patiently  for  the  seeing  eye 
to  observe  them. 

One  of  the  most  imaginative  of  English  poets 
says: 

"Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass. 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  eternity." 

And  no  one  sees  things  uncolored  by  his  own 
brain.  If,  conventionaUzed  by  school  and  col- 
lege and  by  imitation  of  famous  writers,  the 
young  story-teller  loses  the  colors  of  his  own  vi- 
sion of  life,  he  loses  originality.  It  is  the  strong 
man  like  Kipling  who  makes  us  revise  our  little 
pedantic  code  of  literary  rules  to  admit  him  to 
the  circle  of  acknowledged  masters  of  narration. 
OriginaHty  is  a  man  asserting  himself — com- 
pletely, clearly,  and  convincingly.  But  it  is 
something  quite  dififerent  from  mere  egotism, 
of  which  amateurs  who  send  manuscripts  to 
Harper's  or  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  often  have 

[30] 


Originality:   Kinds  and  Methods 

more  than  enough.  Having  read,  for  certain 
magazines,  a  good  many  stories  and  the  uncon- 
sciously humorous  letters  that  accompany  them, 
the  present  writer  is  prepared  to  support  his 
assertion  by  documentary  evidence.  It  is  aston- 
ishing how  many  persons  think  it  must  be  easy 
to  write  a  story  for  the  magazines,  regardless 
of  special  training  or  special  ability.  A  good 
ditch-digger  is  more  to  be  honored  than  a  poor 
story-writer.  But  persistence  is  a  great  virtue; 
and  it  must  be  confessed  that  sometimes  a  most 
unpromising  tadpole  later  develops  an  extraor- 
dinary jump. 

Originahty,  at  any  rate,  is  not  mere  vaude- 
ville cleverness,  of  which  men  capable  of  better 
things,  Uke  Irvin  S.  Cobb  and  Samuel  G.  Blythe, 
have  given  the  public  an  unconscionable  dose. 
Mr.  Cobb  in  his  war  articles,  however,  has 
analyzed  something  more  important  than  "tum- 
mies" and  seasickness.  Moreover,  in  his  short 
stories  he  has  never  exhibited  the  straining 
after  theatrical  effect  in  phraseology  which 
marks  those  anatomical  articles.  The  difference 
between  forced-draft  humor  of  this  sort  and 
real  art  may  be  seen  if  one  turns  to  the  remark- 
able short  stories  of  W.  W.  Jacobs.  These 
have  not  only  originality  of  the  most  indubitable 

[31] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

kind  but  also  a  deftness  of  method  and  of  char- 
acterizing phrase,  an  economy  of  means  and  a 
compactness  of  effect  that  put  to  shame  the 
windy  discursiveness  of  some  of  our  American 
"'journalese."  Mr.  Jacobs  reveals  a  trait  of  a 
character  in  a  single  stroke;  and  the  whole 
character  in  an  astonishingly  small  number 
of  such  strokes.  Mr.  George  Horace  Lorimer, 
editor  of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post,  has  an 
admiration  for  W.  W.  Jacobs  which  some  of  his 
"star"  contributors  might  well  emulate. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  something  of  this  mere 
cleverness  is  due  to  the  influence  of  O.  Henry. 
In  too  many  of  his  tales  he  stands  emphatically 
for  feats  of  verbal  and  structural  legerdemain, 
startUngly  clever  phraseology,  akin  to  keeping 
a  dozen  glass  balls  in  the  air  simultaneously. 
He  is  up  to  date  in  slang  and  colloquialisms; 
the  mark  of  the  ultra-modern  is  upon  him  — 
or  was,  at  the  time  of  his  death.  And  his  in- 
genuity is  indeed  bewildering.  But  such  a 
method  of  attaining  originality  is  as  showy  and 
vulgar  as  a  second-grade  chorus  girl.  Here  is 
a  fairly  typical  passage: 

I  suppose  you  know  all  about  the  stage  and  stage  peo- 
ple. YouVe  been  touched  with  and  by  actors,  and  you 
read  the  newspaper  criticisms  and  the  jokes  in  the  week- 

[32] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

lies  about  the  Rialto  and  the  chorus  girls  and  the  long- 
haired tragedians.  And  I  suppose  that  a  condensed 
Ust  of  your  ideas  about  the  mysterious  stageland  would 
boil  down  to  something  like  this: 

Leading  ladies  have  five  husbands,  paste  diamonds, 
and  figures  no  better  than  your  own  (madam)  if  they 
weren't  padded.  Chorus  girls  are  inseparable  from  per- 
oxide, Panhards  and  Pittsburgh.  All  shows  walk  back 
to  New  York  on  tan  oxford  and  railroad  ties.^ 

We  still  have  too  much  admiration  for  the 
juggler  and  trickster  of  literature.  A  short- 
story  writer  who  can  keep  up  a  continuous 
vaudeville  performance  of  astonishing  feats 
often  attains  temporary  popularity  —  just  as 
does  the  horseplay  of  one  Charles  Chaplin  in  the 
"movies."  But  in  order  to  retain  the  respect 
of  his  pubHc  he  must  have  something  more 
than  the  virtues  of  the  mountebank;  he  must 
Jiave  nature  and  sincerity.  And  O.  Henry 
generally  had  these.  His  faults  of  style  do  not 
obscure  his  searching  analysis  of  human  nature. 
Some  of  his  little  excerpts  from  life  have  a  vivid- 
ness and  truth  that  calLfor  the  most  cordial 
admiration.     They  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature. 

The  moment,  however,  that  a  writer  without 
O.  Henry's  genius  attempts  to  rival  his  eccen- 
tricities —  for  his  virtues  are  inimitable  —  he 

1  Strictly  Business.    Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. 

[33] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

is  likely  to  come  to  grief.  A  whole  series  of 
such  imitations,  by  a  fairly  well-known  author, 
came  under  the  eye  of  the  present  writer  in 
manuscript.  They  possessed  a  certain  sparkle, 
but  their  attempt  to  convey  the  atmosphere  of 
the  Broadway  "white-Ught  district"  just  es- 
caped success,  because  they  were  obviously 
"manufactured."  They  did  not  ring  true. 
One's  criticism  was,  instinctively:  "How  hard 
he  is  trying  to  be  clever!"  But  all  his  taking 
of  thought  failed  to  add  one  cubit  to  his  Uterary 
stature.  Moral:  Don't  imitate  O.  Henry  —  or 
anybody  else. 

The  best  advice  ever  given  to  a  short-story 
writer  was  probably  that  which  one  great 
Frenchman,  Flaubert,  gave  to  another  who 
was  destined  to  become  equally  great,  Guy 
de  Maupassant: 

Everything  which  one  desires  to  express  must  be 
looked  at  with  sufficient  attention,  and  during  a  suffi- 
ciently long  time,  to  discover  in  it  some  aspect  which  no 
one  has  as  yet  seen  or  described.  In  everything  there 
is  stiU  some  spot  unexplored,  because  we  are  accustomed 
only  to  use  our  eyes  with  the  recollection  of  what  others 
before  us  have  thought  on  the  subject  which  we  contemplate. 
The  smallest  object  contains  something  imknown.  Find 
it.  To  describe  a  fire  that  flames,  and  a  tree  on  the 
plain,  look,  keep  looking,  at  that  flame  and  that  tree 

[34] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

until  in  your  eyes  they  have  lost  all  resemblance  to  any 
other  tree  or  any  other  fire. 

This  is  the  way  to  become  original.  .  .  . 

When  you  pass  a  grocer  seated  at  his  shop  door,  a 
janitor  smoking  his  pipe,  a  stand  of  hackney  coaches, 
show  me  that  grocer  and  that  janitor  —  their  attitude, 
their  whole  physical  appearance  —  embracing  likewise, 
as  indicated  by  the  skilfulness  of  the  picture,  their  whole 
moral  nature;  so  that  I  cannot  confound  them  with  any 
other  grocer  or  any  other  janitor.  Make  me  see,  in  one 
word,  that  a  certain  cab  horse  does  not  resemble  the 
fifty  others  that  follow  or  precede  it. 

He  who  has  learned  to  individualize  in  this 
fashion  has  exhibited  not  only  talent  but  also  a 
capacity  for  hard  work.  The  apprenticeship 
of  the  average  short-story  writer  who  attains 
success  is  a  long  one  —  two  or  tl^ree  years  at 
best.  During  this  period,  however,  he  may  sell 
a  pumber  of  stories  to  minor  magazines  whose 
circulation  and  rate  of  payment  are  small.  It 
is  often  quite  possible  to  earn  while  you  learn. 
A  certain  author's  barren  period  of  five  years 
is  not  typical  —  unless  one  begins,  as  he  perhaps 
did,  at  an  extremely  early  age.  There  are 
more  than  seventy  American  periodicals  that 
print  fiction;  and  most  of  them  are  eagerly 
looking  for  new  writers.  In  such  conditions 
no  real  talent  can  long  remain  undiscovered. 

[35] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

In  the  fiction  world  of  to-day  there  are  no  mute, 
inglorious  Eaplings.  Everybody  has  a  chance. 
In  most  magazine  offices  all  manuscripts  are 
read  carefully  enough  to  make  sure  that  nothing 
of  merit  is  sent  back  without  a  word  of  encour- 
agement. It  must  be  remembered,  however, 
that  not  even  an  editor  can  squeeze  more  than 
twenty-four  hours  out  of  a  day;  and  he  must 
therefore  devote  his  attention  to  promising  ma- 
terial only.  After  you  have  had  a  few  stories 
printed,  you  will  generally  find  it  easy  to  get 
an  interview  with  almost  any  editor  and  to  se- 
cure suggestions  from  him — particularly  as  to 
the  pohcies  of  his  own  magazine. 

It  is  astonishing,  by  the  way,  that  the  same 
pubUc  which  demands  originality  in  the  short 
story  and  the  novel  should  tolerate  the  trite 
and  commonplace  melodrama  served  up  to  it 
in  motion  pictures.  Better  films  are  gradually 
being  offered  —  some  at  regular  theater  prices 
—  but  so  far  the  "movies"  are  little  more  than 
a  return  to  the  infancy  of  the  Enghsh  drama 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  There  is  the  same  crude 
plot,  the  same  crude  horseplay.  A  good  short- 
story  writer  may  easily  ruin  his  inventiveness 
and  technique  by  devoting  himself  to  writing 
motion-picture    scenarios    for    a    few    months. 

[36] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

The  present  writer  knows  of  one  such  case. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  more  novels  and  short 
stories  —  provided  they  are  highly  original  — 
are  turned  into  motion  pictures,  the  better  for 
the  future  of  this  still  somewhat  doubtful  field. 
Often  the  originality  of  a  short-story  writer 
is  shown  by  his  choice  of  a  fit  and  striking  title. 
In  many  cases,  however,  it  is  the  editor  who, 
in  newspaper  fashion,  hits  upon  the  best  ''head- 
line" to  attract  his  public.  The  finest  stories 
do  not  need  ultra-clever  or  pretentious  titles  — 
simply  something  that  is  a  true  index  to  the 
theme  and  that  awakens  some  curiosity.  The 
Red-Headed  League,  one  of  the  Sherlock  Holmes 
tales,  fulfils  these  requirements;  and  so  does  its 
companion.  The  Adventure  of  the  Speckled  Band, 
a  remarkably  dramatic  and  original  piece  of 
craftsmanship.  The  Three  Godfathers,  by  Peter 
B.  Kyne,  is  simple  and  satisfying.  Edna  Fer- 
ber's  amusing  and  penetrating  story  of  hotel 
atmosphere  in  a  large  city.  The  Hooker-up-the- 
Back,  is  unusually  well  introduced  by  its  title. 
So  also  is  The  Queen  of  the  Graveyard  Ghouls, 
by  Barry  Benefield,  a  humorous-sentimental 
love  tale  which  found  a  place  in  The  Ladies' 
Home  Journal,  Fannie  Hurst's  "T.  B.,''  sl 
happy-ending  story  of  a  young  girl  threatened 

[37] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

with  tuberculosis,  is  striking  but  of  questionable 
drawing  power.  Attempts  at  mere  cleverness 
in  titles  are  found  more  frequently  in  the  minor 
magazines,  where  it  sometimes  seems  necessary 
to  bolster  up  a  mediocre  tale  by  a  "snappy" 
title.  It  is  related,  by  the  way,  that  a  book 
publisher  once  asked  an  author  to  write  a 
"bright,  snappy  Ufe  of  Jesus!"  The  volume, 
however,  was  never  penned. 

KipUng  often  manifests  real  genius  in  a  title. 
They  is  perhaps  too  vague,  but  at  any  rate  it 
provokes  curiosity.  So  also  does  ,007.  The 
Brushwood  Boy  is  highly  original.  The  Man 
Who  Would  Be  King  is  less  striking  but  entirely 
adequate.  In  articles,  quite  as  much  as  in  fic- 
tion, moreover,  the  good  title  commends  itself. 
Compare,  for  example.  Permanent  Soil  Fertility 
with  The  Farm  That  Won't  Wear  Out  Titles 
are  much  more  journaUstic  nowadays  than  in 
the  period  of  Hawthorne  and  Poe.  A  sensa- 
tion-loving editor  would  be  pretty  sure  to  change 
Rappaccini*s  Daughter  to  something  like  The 
Poisoner's  Daughter.  But  of  course  the  best 
title  in  the  world  can  do  no  more  than  introduce 
a  story.  It  must  make  its  way  on  sheer  merit. 
The  somewhat  puerile  fashion  of  prefacing 
a  tale  by  an  editorial  note  of  explanation  and 

[38] 


Originality:  Kinds  and  Methods 

praise  —  aptly  called  a  "blurb"  by  Gelett 
Burgess  —  has  little  to  recommend  it.  It  in- 
sults the  intelligence  of  the  better  class  of  readers 
and  is  of  doubtful  aid  even  to  the  other  class. 

The  man  who  really  has  something  to  say  — 
this  is  the  man  for  whom  the  world  is  always 
looking,  whether  in  short  story,  novel,  article, 
sermon,  or  social  prophecy.  Commonplace  folk 
need  the  few  pioneers  to  do  their  thinking  and 
inventing  for  them.  It  may  be  Kipling  in 
fiction,  Edison  in  electricity,  Darwin  in  evolu- 
tion; but  in  all  cases  it  is  originality  which  is 
honored;  it  is  the  man  of  imagination  who 
leads  the  van  —  "and  by  the  vision  splendid 
is  on  his  way  attended." 

EXERCISES 

1.  Make  an  outline  of  the  plot  of  Conan  Doyle's  The 
Red-Headed  League  (in  The  Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes) 
in  order  to  study  the  original  elements  in  it.  Are  there 
any  improbabilities  in  this  story?  In  The  Adventure  of 
the  Speckled  Band?  Are  these  improbabilities,  if  present, 
likely  to  affect  the  enjoyment  of  the  average  reader? 

2.  Kipling's  They  (in  Traffics  and  Discoveries)  is  highly 
original  in  many  respects.  It  is  a  good  test  of  a  student's 
ability  to  understand  in  full  an  obscure  but  masterly 
story.  Write  such  an  outline  as  will  show  what  the  tale 
means  to  you.    Mention  any  details  or  main  elements 

[39] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

which  you  fail  to  comprehend.     Why  would  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post  probably  refuse  such  a  story? 

3.  The  cleverness  of  Stockton's  The  Lady,  or  the  Tiger? 
(in  Sherman's  A  Book  of  Short  Stories)  lies  chiefly  in  the 
problematic  ending.  Set  down  the  reasons  for  each  of 
the  two  solutions  proposed.  Are  we  told  enough  about 
the  character  of  the  princess  to  enable  us  to  guess  what 
she  would  probably  do?  Is  a  problem-close  used  in  any 
contemporary  magazine  stories  which  you  have  read? 

4.  Hawthorne's  The  Birthmark  (in  Jessup  and  Can- 
by 's  The  Book  of  the  Short  Story)  is  original  and  pleasing; 
but  it  is  in  several  respects  old-fashioned.  Show  why 
it  is  unlike  most  present-day  stories.  Is  the  didactic 
element  strong  in  modern  magazine  stories?  What  mag- 
azines favor  it,  if  any?  Compare  The  Birthmark  with 
KipUng's  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy  (in  The  Book  of  the 
Short  Story)  with  respect  to  didacticism. 

6.  Dickens'  A  Christmas  Carol  (in  Cody's  The  World's 
Greatest  Short  Stories)  evidently  did  not  gain  its  success 
by  originality.  Write  a  brief  appreciation  of  this  story 
which  will  show  its  elements  of  popular  appeal.  What 
is  generally  required  in  a  Christmas  story  which  is  not 
so  often  present  in  others?  Some  magazines  no  longer 
print  typical  "Christmas  stories,"  the  editors  declaring 
that  their  sophisticated  readers  find  such  tales  too  ele- 
mentary. 

6.  Mary  Wilkins-Freeman's  The  Revolt  of  '* Mother'* 
(in  Mikels'  Short  Stories  for  High  Schools)  is  an  example 
of  an  uneventful  life  lighted  up  for  a  moment  by  an 
unusual  act  of  daring.     Test  this  for  plausibihty   and 

[40] 


Originality:   Kinds  and  Methods 

compare  it  with   The  Adventure  of  the  Speckled  Band, 
both  in  this  respect  and  in  any  others  which  occur  to  you. 

7.  Katharine  FuUerton  Gerould's  Vain  Oblations  (in 
the  volume  bearing  that  title)  has  much  more  plot  and 
much  more  originality  of  plot  than  most  of  her  stories. 
Outhne  this  and  compare  it  with  a  similar  outline  of  any 
other  tale  from  this  volume.  Generally  Mrs.  Gerould 
depends  too  much  upon  subtle  and  complex  delineation 
of  character  without  any  strong  plot  effect.  Hence  her 
stories  do  not  appear  in  the  magazines  of  largest  circula- 
tion, which  demand  that  something  shall  happen.  Her 
originahty  lies  mainly  in  her  psychology.  She  is  not  a 
good  model  for  young  writers  who  wish  to  sell  stories  to 
the  average  magazine. 

8.  Point  out,  among  ten  stories  in  current  periodicals, 
the  one  that  you  consider  most  original,  and  tell  why. 
Give  some  indication  of  the  plot  of  the  one  that  seems 
least  original. 

9.  In  O'Brien's  The  Best  Short  Stories  of  1915,  which 
tales  are  founded  on  a  really  worth-while  idea?  And 
what,  in  each  case,  is  the  idea?  Are  there  any  stories  in 
this  volume  which  seem  to  rely  upon  skilful  treatment 
rather  than  upon  any  genuine  originality  of  subject? 
(Mr.  O'Brien's  selections,  for  various  reasons,  do  not 
constitute  a  list  of  the  best  short  fiction  of  1915;  but  the 
volume  is  useful,  nevertheless.) 

10.  Briefly  describe,  in  H.  G.  Wells'  volume.  Thirty 
Strange  Stories,  three  that  are  too  daringly  original  to  be 
acceptable  to  a  periodical  of  large  circulation,  whose 
readers  are  for  the  most  part  commonplace  people.     (You 

[41] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

can  find,  also,  one  or  two  such  tales  in  almost  any  of 
Kipling's  volumes.) 

11.  Find  one  story  in  a  current  magazine  which  shows 
the  vaudeville  cleverness  popularized  by  O.  Henry  —  a 
sort  of  vulgar  "smartness"  which,  in  his  case,  was  gen- 
erally redeemed  by  worthier  quaUties.  Look  first  in  the 
periodicals  of  largest  circulation. 

12.  Find  five  story-titles  in  Scribner's,  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post,  the  Metropolitan,  or  other  magazines,  which 
seem  to  you  to  show  unusual  skill  and  fitness;  and  tell 
why. 

13.  Which  of  the  following  stories  contains  the  most 
original  character?  The  most  original  plot.^  The  most 
unusual  setting?  And  which  seems  to  you  the  best  story? 
—  Kiphng's  The  Man  Who  Would  Be  King,  Balzac's  A 
Passion  in  the  Desert,  Poe's  The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death, 
Hawthorne's  The  Minister's  Black  Veil,  Stevenson's  Will 
o*  the  Mill,  Joseph  Conrad's  Heart  of  Darkness. 

14.  Compare  the  stories  in  an  issue  of  Harper's  with 
those  in  an  issue  of  the  All-Story  Weekly  with  respect  to 
the  kind  of  originahty  shown. 

15.  Among  recent  magazine  tales  which  you  have 
read,  describe  one  that  best  illustrates  Flaubert's  state- 
ment: "The  smallest  object  contains  something 
unknown."  (Many  seemingly  trivial  incidents  become 
important  when  handled  by  a  real  artist.) 


[42] 


CHAPTER  II 

COMMON  FAULTS 

It  is  not  the  object  of  a  really  good  novelist,  nor  does 
it  come  within  the  legitimate  means  of  high  art  in  any 
department  to  produce  an  actual  illusion.  ...  A 
novelist  is  not  only  justified  in  writing  so  as  to  prove 
that  his  work  is  fictitious,  but  he  almost  necessarily 
hampers  himself,  to  the  prejudice  of  his  work,  if  he 
imposes  upon  himself  the  condition  that  his  book  shall 
be  capable  of  being  mistaken  for  a  genuine  narrative. 
—  Leslie  Stephen,  Hours  in  a  Library. 

The  most  frequent  criticism,^  probably,  that 
an  editor  has  to  pass  upon  a  short  story  other- 
wise good  is,  "Unconvincing."  A  tale  may 
T)e  unconvincing  either  in  total  eflFect  or  in  a 
particular  feature  or  features  —  in  which  case 
it  is  possible  to  revise  it  and  make  it  acceptable, 
make  it  one  of  the  short  stories  that  sell.  Young 
writers  would  be  surprised  to  learn  in  how  many 
instances  famous  authors  thus  alter  a  story  in 
accordance  with  an  editor's  suggestion.  In 
one  case  an  admirable  story  needed,  and  received, 

^  One  of  the  commonest  and  most  serious  faults  in  short-story  writing, 
the  weak  ending,  is  treated  in  the  chapter  on  structure.  See  pages  103- 
106. 

[43] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

a  slight  revision  because  of  a  courtroom  scene 
and  verdict.  No  jury  with  a  conscience  would 
have  been  likely  to  let  even  a  fine  fellow  —  such 
as  the  hero  was  —  off  scot-free  on  the  purely 
extra-legal  grounds  which  the  author  described. 
We  may  have  sympathy  with  a  hero  who  kills 
a  villain,  but  in  a  law  court  we  expect  justice. 
This  was  an  unusually  fine  magazine  story  and, 
when  revised,  made  a  profound  impression. 
Courtesy  to  the  writer  forbids  giving  its  title; 
but  it  may  be  said  that  the  author,  a  woman, 
is  in  general  an  admirable  craftsman. 

Maupassant's  familiar  tale,  The  String,  is 
convincing  because  the  central  character,  though 
he  tells  the  truth  about  the  bit  of  string  that  he 
picked  up,  is  known  to  be  tricky.  Hence  he  is 
beUeved  to  have  picked  up  and  concealed  a 
pocketbook  that  had  been  lost.  He  suffers 
unjustly  in  this  instance,  but  suffers  because 
of  his  previous  acts.  Maupassant  was  too 
good  a  psychologist  to  make  a  mistake  in  prob- 
ability of  motive  or  action. 

In  another  story  that  came  to  the  present 
writer  in  manuscript,  the  fault  lay  in  too  open 
a  use  of  the  supernatural.  A  bearskin  or  lion- 
skin  rug — memory  refuses  to  say  which — sud- 
denly becomes  animate  and  threatens  the  hfe 

[44] 


Common  Faults 

of  the  hunter  who  had  long  since  added  it  to  his 
collection.  Though  skilfully  told,  by  an  author 
who  had  many  published  tales  to  his  credit, 
this  proved  too  much  for  the  editor  to  swallow. 
Yet  Kipling's  Wireless,^  in  which  the  spirit 
of  Keats  enters  into  a  modern  poet  and  directs 
his  pen,  was  not  adjudged  a  failure.  The 
only  workable  test  of  the  supernatural  is  this : 
Does  it  convince  the  reader's  imagination  mo- 
mentarily? Does  it  throw  his  reason  into  a 
hypnotic  slumber .^^  H.  G.  Wells  does  it  in  most 
of  the  tales  in  his  volume,  Thirty  Strange  Stories; 
but  the  average  story  writer  should  keep  away 
from  the  supernatural.  It  is  not  a  popular 
magazine  topic;  it  presents,  therefore,  a  handi- 
cap that  only  great  imaginative  power  and 
vividness  of  expression  can  overcome. 

When  we  say,  then,  that  a  story  is  unconvinc- 
ing we  consciously  or  unconsciously  pass  a  ver- 
dict that  things  would  not  happen  so  in  real  life; 
or  that,  granted  extraordinary  circumstances, 
a  man  would  not  act  so  in  those  circum- 
stances. A  genuinely  inspiring  story,  however, 
is  always  a  trifle  better  than  real  life.  Its 
people  are  perhaps  kinder  and  more  disinter- 
ested.    They  are  like  Turner's  sunsets.     "But, 

*  In  Traffics  and  Discoveries. 

[45] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Mr.  Turner,"  said  an  old  lady  as  she  stood 
before  one  of  his  famous  canvases,  "I  never 
saw  such  a  sunset."  "Ah!  my  dear  madam," 
rephed  the  painter,  "but  don't  you  wish  you 
could!"  The  success  of  optimistic  tales,  tales 
designed  simply  to  make  people  happier,  shows 
the  wisdom  of  Turner's  defense.  The  Peggy- 
Mary  stories  in  Good  Housekeeping,  by  Kay 
Cleaver  Strahan,  which  have  since  been  col- 
lected in  book  form,  show  how  a  new  author 
may  emerge  into  some  prominence  by  thus 
spreading  happiness  through  a  delightful  young 
heroine.  A  good  many  people  are  always 
wilUng  to  be  deceived  —  if  this  be  the  right  word 
—  into  thinking  for  the  moment  that  life  is  a 
rose-garden  idyl  ^  rather  than  a  prosaic  piece 
of  business. 

"People  wouldn't  act  so  in  real  life."  One 
of  the  commonest  reasons  for  this  criticism, 
passed  by  many  a  reader  of  an  essentially  uncon- 
vincing tale,  is  that  amateur  writers  and  even 
seasoned  professionals  are  too  fond  of  using 
"plot-ridden  characters,"  people  who  are  made 
to  act  unnaturally  because  the  ingeniously 
planned  outcome  of  the  plot  demands  it.     The 

1  See  Margaret  Widdemer's  The  Rose-Garden  Husband.  It  is  an  ex- 
cellent example  of  this  theory  applied  to  a  short  novel. 

[46] 


Common  Faults 

plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  are  full  of  such 
characters;  but  only  in  the  final  reconciUation 
scene  of  certain  comedies  will  you  detect  an 
example  in  Shakespeare.  It  is  always  bad 
art  to  construct  a  plot  which  forces  the  charac- 
ters to  act  with  absurd  unnaturalness.  A  writer 
may  commit  this  crime  in  the  second  or  third 
degree  and  be  pardoned  by  an  indulgent  public 
for  his  virtues  of  inventiveness  and  skilful 
structure;  but  he  should  not  often  strain  the 
credulity  of  his  readers.  Anna  Katharine  Green 
often  sins  in  this  respect  in  her  detective  stories, 
which  are  therefore  markedly  inferior  to  the 
short  mystery  tales  of  Melville  Davisson  Post, 
or  G.  K.  Chesterton,  or  Sir  Arthur  Conan 
Doyle. 

A  second  common  fault,  briefly  mentioned 
in  the  opening  chapter,  is  a  threadbare  plot 
or  situation.  No  one  who  lacks  inventiveness 
can  go  very  far  in  short-story  writing.  One 
young  woman  submitted  to  the  present  writer 
at  least  half  a  dozen  successive  stories  all  of 
which,  from  the  standpoint  of  technique,  were 
well  written  but  all  hopelessly  familiar  to  the 
average  reader  —  familiar  not  merely  in  one 
feature  or  element  but  in  their  entirety.  It 
may  be  that  this  was  due  to  lack  of  wide  reading 

[47] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

on  her  part.  At  any  rate,  she  failed  to  inject 
any  of  her  own  individuaUty  into  her  work. 

Another  young  woman  ingenuously  confessed 
that  she  had  read  very  few  short  stories.  \Miat 
with  social  activities,  et  cetera,  she  had  never 
found  time !  Yet  she  had  time  —  and  temerity 
—  to  attempt  the  writing  of  several  tales. 
Needless  to  say,  they  were  not  successful.  This 
airy  assumption  that  story  writing  requires  no 
special  preparation  or  hard  work  is  responsible 
for  many  worthless  manuscripts  submitted  daily 
to  fiction  magazines.  Some  candidates  for  a  place 
in  a  prominent  periodical,  for  example,  were 
not  even  aware  that  a  manuscript  should  never 
be  sent  rolled;  and  others  apparently  had  never 
discovered  the  existence  of  that  useful  inven- 
tion, the  typewriter.  The  fact  that  amateur 
writers  should  submit  such  manuscripts  to  any 
magazine  illustrates  once  more  that  hope 
springs  eternal. 

Even  a  trained  and  successful  story  writer 
not  infrequently  falls  back  into  the  rut  of  the 
/  too  famiUar  plot.  One  of  those  praised  in  the 
previous  chapter  for  originality  wasted  some 
beautifully  finished  work  on  such  a  plot.  A  rich 
young  man  and  a  rich  young  girl  chanced  upon 
a  poor  young  couple  in  a  grove  whither  all  had 

[48] 


Common  Faults 

gone  on  a  nutting  expedition.  The  contents  of 
the  two  lunch  baskets  were  shared  and  an 
atmosphere  of  genuine  democracy  prevailed. 
Then  two  rough  characters  strolled  by,  insulted 
the  two  ladies,  and  were  promptly  pummeled 
by  the  escorts.  All  very  pretty  and  very  whole- 
some; but  altogether  too  reminiscent.  There 
were  admirable  passages,  yet  as  a  whole  it 
was  not  a  "different"  tale.  And  friendly  editors 
hardened  their  hearts  and  rejected  it.  The 
present  writer  is  not  going  to  be  indiscreet 
enough,  however,  to  mention  the  title  of  the 
story  or  the  name  of  the  author;  for  some  day, 
despite  its  familiar  plot,  it  may  be  printed. 

Whatever  this  story  lacked,  it  had  charm. 
The  worst  of  all  story  faults  is  dullness.  The 
recipe  for  perfect  dullness  is  difficult  to  state, 
since  tastes  differ  —  and  especially  from  one 
generation  to  another.  Books  that  we  now 
pronounce  insufferably  boresome  were  once 
pretty  widely  read.  Even  Defoe  is  now  known 
almost  entirely  by  Robinson  Crusoe,  and  Bunyan 
by  Pilgrim's  Progress,  Any  one  who  will  take 
the  trouble  to  look  into  a  history  of  English 
literature,  however,  will  discover  that  these 
two  men  composed  various  other  works. 

Longueurs  is  the  French  for  dullness. 
[49]    . 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Although,  as  Byron  observed,  we  haven't  the 
word, 

"We  have  the  thing: 
An  epic  from  Bob  Southey  every  spring." 

We  still  have  the  thing  —  in  some  of  Henry 
James'  later  work,  and  in  at  least  a  few  of  the 
short  stories  printed  in  thirty-five-cent  maga- 
zines. This  dullness  most  commonly  arises 
from  total  lack  of  action.  After  perusing  two 
or  three  thousand  words  of  a  story  in  which 
nothing  happens  or  seems  Ukely  ever  to  happen, 
the  average  reader  throws  the  offending  periodi- 
cal into  the  farthest  corner  and  proceeds  to  ex- 
press a  vigorous  opinion  of  the  editor  as  well  as 
of  the  writer.  Which  is  as  it  should  be.  A 
story  should  have  story  interest.  Shakespeare, 
who  knew  his  audience  so  well,  knew  this;  and  in 
his  middle  and  later  periods  he  fairly  crowded 
his  plays  with  action.  This  was  what  the 
average  person  wanted;  and  it  is  what  the  aver- 
age person  wants  to-day.  Let  there  be  no  mis- 
take about  that.  You  couldn't  make  a  volume 
equal  in  interest  to  Lamb's  Tales  from  Shake- 
speare out  of  Ben  Jonson's  plots.  There  is  not 
enough  story  in  them,  not  enough  complica- 
tions in  the  plot.  There  is  not  enough  story 
in  some  of  the  short  tales  of  Katharine  FuUerton 

[50] 


Common  Faults 

Gerould,  a  writer  much  praised  by  a  small  cult. 
The  truth  is  that  Mrs.  Gerould  sometimes  loses 
her  way  in  a  thicket  of  psychology  and  a  thicket 
of  phrase  —  but  not  always.  Probably  she 
could  get  into  the  fifteen-cent  magazines  if  she 
wished,  instead  of  merely  Harper's,  Scribner's 
and  the  Century;  for  the  American  woman  is, 
as  foreigners  have  observed,  a  very  adaptable 
creature. 

^  When  one  says  that  story  interest  is  necessary, 
it  must  not  be  assumed  that  a  story  which  pos- 
sesses action  is  necessarily  a  slam-bang,  breath- 
less production  —  or  what  is  known  in  the  trade 
as  a  "red-shirt"  story.  The  true  recipe  can 
hardly  be  better  stated  than  in  Hamlet's  famous 
advice  to  the  players: 

Do  not  saw  the  air  too  much  with  your  hand,  thus, 
but  use  all  gently;  for  in  the  very  torrent,  tempest,  and, 
as  I  may  say,  whirlwind  of  passion,  you  must  acquire  and 
beget  a  temperance  that  may  give  it  smoothness.  .  .  . 
Be  not  too  tame,  neither,  but  let  your  own  discretion  be 
your  tutor.  Suit  the  action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the 
action;  with  this  special  observance,  that  you  o'erstep 
not  the  modesty  \j.e.,  moderation]  of  nature. 

This  advice  needs  a  httle  adaptation  in  order 
to  apply  to  the  short  story;  but  the  general 
purport  is  clear  enough.     Action  in  narrative 

[51] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

does  not  mean  melodrama  or  the  rapidity  of 
a  motion-picture  film.  It  simply  means  that 
something  interesting  must  happen. 

You  may  open  your  tale  with  a  httle  essay, 
as  several  good  writers  sometimes  do,  but  you 
must  then  proceed  to  business.  Some  stories 
are  nearly  all  essay;  and  their  authors  ought 
to  be  writing  essays  rather  than  fiction.  Haw- 
thorne's The  Great  Stone  Face,  admirable  as  it 
is,  betrays  rather  too  much  of  the  sermon.  A 
man  must  be  a  born  story-teller  rather  than  a 
manufactured  one,  in  order  to  portray  action 
naturally,  easily,  and  abundantly.  Of  such  was 
Chaucer  in  verse;  and  of  such  was  Stevenson 
in  prose,  as  evidenced  by  the  title  given  to 
him  by  the  Samoan  islanders  —  tusitala,  "the 
teller  of  tales."  To  them  he  told  his  stories 
orally,  after  the  good  old  Homeric  fashion; 
and  they  recognized  in  him  the  true  narrative 
genius. 

A  fourth  common  fault  in  story-writing  is 
lack  of  acquaintance  with  one's  material  — 
with  the  locality,  for  example,  or  the  habits  and 
characteristics  of  the  people.  This  fault  may 
be  dismissed  briefly,  for  it  should  hardly  be 
necessary  to  warn  writers  with  honesty  of  pur- 
pose not  to  treat  things  of  which  they  are  partly 

[52] 


Common  Faults 

or  wholly  ignorant.  So  well  known  a  short 
story  writer  as  Edna  Ferber,  however,  attempts 
fields  unfamihar  to  her  in  Broadway  to  Buenos 
Aires  ^  and  with  not  very  happy  results.  The 
indefatigable  Emma  McChesney  takes  a  business 
trip  to  South  America;  but  the  local  color  of 
that  continent  seems  to  have  been  very  imper- 
fectly assimilated  by  the  author.  A  man  who 
has  been  there  informs  me  that,  contrary  to  Miss 
Ferber's  belief,  it  is  Portuguese,  not  Spanish, 
which  is  chiefly  spoken  in  Rio  Janeiro.  The 
call  for  a  South  American  story  tempted  Miss 
Ferber  to  write  of  something  which  was  partly 
or  largely  outside  of  her  own  experience.  The 
moment  one  compares  Broadway  to  Buenos 
Aires  with  Beatrice  Grimshaw's  stories  of  the 
South  Seas,  one  can  perceive  the  richness  of 
local  color  in  the  latter  and  the  intimate  famil- 
iarity of  Miss  Grimshaw  with  all  her  materials 
—  a  familiarity  which  Miss  Ferber  also  exhibits 
in  her  best  tales  of  American  business,  such  as 
Roast  Beef  Medium  ^  (the  title  story  of  a  volume). 
This  familiarity  is  what  has  given  vogue  to  many 
a  writer  who  has  confined  himself  to  a  small 
section  of  country.     Joel  Chandler  Harris  made 

*  In  Emma  McChesney  &  Co. 

2  First  published  in  the  American  Magazine,  Dec.,  19W* 
[53] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Georgia  his  canvas;  Thomas  Nelson  Page, 
Virginia;  George  W.  Cable,  Louisiana;  Mary 
Wilkins,  New  England;  and  H.  C.  Bunner, 
Richard  Harding  Davis,  and  O.  Henry  are  per- 
haps most  famous  for  their  tales  of  New  York 
City. 

Some  tales  of  high  society  by  young  persons 
—  and  a  few  older  ones  —  who  have  evidently 
never  moved  in  that  society  illustrate  by  various 
ingenuous  betrayals  how  perilous  it  is  for  an 
author  to  step  outside  his  own  experience. 
Some  little  faux  pas  at  a  critical  moment  is 
almost  certain  to  reveal  him  to  those  who  really 
know  the  atmosphere  which  he  pretends  to  know. 
Honesty  and  sincerity  are  at  the  bottom  of  all 
good  literary  work. 

Writers  of  short  stories  who  are  ambitious 
to  get  into  good  magazines  should  remember, 
further,  that  certain  subjects  are  in  themselves 
undesirable,  regardless  of  the  merits  of  the  story. 
Very  few  periodicals  admit  anything  sordid  or 
depressing.  An  excellent  tale  of  a  New  York 
gunman,  by  an  author  who  knew  his  atmosphere 
well,  proved  unacceptable  because  few  readers 
care  to  become  acquainted  with  anyone  so 
revolting  as  a  professional  gunman  —  the 
Becker    case  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

[54] 


Common  Faults 

Sordid  murder  cases  seem  to  be  much  more 
popular  in  the  newspapers  than  in  magazine 
fiction. 

With  the  permission  of  the  author,  Thomas 
Grant  Springer,  I  quote  a  passage  near  the 
opening  of  the  story  mentioned,  The  Gun,  and 
another  near  the  close: 

Pug  Bradley  was  a  killer,  but  there  were  no  notches 
on  his  gun.  Pug  was  born  on  the  East  Side,  not  in  the 
West,  and  the  record  of  his  victims  was  an  open  book  to 
the  neighborhood,  though  the  police  blotter  gave  him  no 
positive  mention.  Murder  was  part  of  his  day's,  or 
rather  his  night's  work,  for  Pug  was  a  nocturnal  animal, 
brother  of  the  feline  prowlers  of  the  city,  as  vicious  if  not 
as  noisy.  His  pride  in  his  achievements  was  a  quiet  one 
—  not,  however,  from  any  sense  of  modesty  —  and 
though  his  fame  was  circulated  in  awed  whispers,  he 
looked  with  disfavor  on  a  press  agent.  He  was  known 
and  feared  for  what  he  was  and  gloried  in  his  reputation. 
At  certain  Second  Avenue  cafes  the  slinking  waiters  sHd 
up  to  the  cashier  with  his  unpaid  checks  which  the  house 
always  stood  for.  At  various  corner  cigar  stands  the 
score  for  his  cigarettes  was  wiped  secretly  from  the  slate 
without  comment. 

Pug  made  his  way  straight  to  the  Cosmopolitan  Cafe. 
He  took  a  table  across  the  room  where  he  could  watch 
the  door  of  the  dressing  room,  and  ordered  a  meal.  The 
place  was  comfortably  filled  and  the  cabaret  was  in  full 
swing.    Mame  was  nowhere  in  sight,  but  the  reserved 

[55] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

table  had  a  chair  leaned  against  it.  Pug  noticed  this 
with  dissatisfaction.  He  shifted  his  position  sUghtly  so 
as  to  bring  the  vacant  chair  into  a  straight  line  with  him 
and,  when  his  order   appeared,  attacked  it  with  rehsh. 

Once  or  twice  during  his  meal  he  caught  sight  of  Mame 
hovering  about  the  dressing  room  door,  evidently  waiting. 
As  Pug  pushed  back  his  plate  and  ht  a  cigarette,  Billy 
the  Bloke  tirnied  back  the  chair  and,  sitting  down,  glanced 
toward  the  dressing  room  door.  In  an  instant  Pug's 
cigarette  dropped  from  his  fingers.  He  shot  a  specu- 
lative glance  about  the  room  and  noted  the  quickest 
way  of  retreat  toward  the  street  door. 

His  hand  shot  into  his  jxxiket.  Just  at  that  mo- 
ment Mame  started  toward  the  table.  Billy  rose  to  greet 
her.  A  shot  rang  out.  On  a  line  an  inch  from  Billy's 
head  the  plaster  cracked  on  the  wall  where  the  bullet  had 
lodged.  Before  Pug  could  fire  again  Mame  had  flung 
herself  in  front  of  Billy,  facing  the  direction  from  which 
the  shot  had  come,  and  Pug,  afraid  to  risk  another  try 
with  that  shield  between  him  and  his  intended  victim, 
was  rushing  toward  the  door,  the  frightened  diners  scram- 
bling out  of  his  way. 

Into  the  street  he  bolted,  cleared  the  sidewalk  at  a 
bound  and,  tearing  open  the  door  of  a  taxicab  standing 
on  a  Hne  with  the  door,  he  shoved  the  gun  against  the 
back  of  the  startled  chauffeur  with  a  curt  couMuand, 
"Shove  th'  juice  into  her  an'  drive  like  hell!" 

This  Is  so  well  told  that  it  is  pretty  evident 
that  the  only  reason  for  its  rejection  was  the 
undesirable  subject. 

[56] 


Common  Faults 

The  topic  of  insanity  is  another  which  is  gen- 
erally too  unpleasant  to  find  a  place  in  peri- 
odicals. Poe's  tremendous  story,  The  Telltale 
Heart,  would  probably  gain  entrance  by  sheer 
merit;  and  it  is  frequently  used  by  public  readers 
and  elocutionists.  But  editors  do  not  call  for 
such  subjects,  because  the  average  reader  cannot 
sink  his  dislike  of  the  unpleasant  in  admiration 
for  the  art  with  which,  in  Poe,  the  unpleasant 
is  depicted.  Appreciation  of  art,  of  the  beautiful 
in  technique,  and  of  beauty  in  its  widest  sense, 
is  sadly  lacking  in  most  American  magazine 
readers.  And  so  the  story  writer  must  remember 
the  commonplace  advice  of  the  photographer, 
"Look  pleasant,  please."  If  he  writes  as  he 
likes  on  what  he  likes,  editors  may  finally  fall 
down  and  worship  him;  but  he  is  taking  long 
chances.  He  may  build  up  a  reputation  as  a 
literary  craftsman;  but  meanwhile  the  wolf 
may  steal  up  to  his  door. 

There  are  encouraging  exceptions,  however. 
Irvin  S.  Cobb's  gruesome  tale.  The  Belled  Buz- 
zard,^ probably  the  best  he  has  written,  was 
featured  on  the  first  page  of  the  Post;  and  W. 
W.  Jacobs'  equally  gruesome  and  even  more 
artistic  story.  The  Monkey's  Paw,  was  printed 

*  In  The  Escape  of  Mr.  Trimm. 
E57] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

in  Harper's  Magazine.^  But  both  of  these 
stories  are  so  vividly  dramatic  that  they  enthrall 
the  reader  more  than  the  subject  repels  him. 
""And  it  is  worth  noting  that  both  writers  are 
known  chiefly  for  rollicking  humorous  tales. 

The  closing  passage  of  Mr.  Jacobs'  story  shows 
his  art  at  its  best.  A  dried  and  withered  paw 
is  reputed  to  be  a  talisman  the  possession  of 
which  makes  possible  the  fulfilment  of  three 
wishes.  The  possessor  wishes  for  money.  It 
comes,  but  brings  the  death  of  a  son  with  it. 
The  mother  then  wishes  for  his  restoration  to 
life.  What  happens  is  told  as  but  few  could 
tell  it,  in  the  following  climax.  Note  the  skill 
with  which  the  suspense  is  prolonged  —  by  at 
least  half  a  dozen  separate  strokes: 

«  His  wife  sat  up  in  bed  Kstening.  A  loud  knock  re- 
sounded through  the  house. 

"  It's  Herbert ! "  she  screamed.     "  It's  Herbert ! " 

She  ran  to  the  door,  but  her  husband  was  before  her, 
and  catching  her  by  the  arm,  held  her  tightly. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do.^*"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

"It's  my  boy;  it's  Herbert!"  she  cried,  struggHng 
\r  mechanically.  "  I  forgot  it  [  the  cemetery  ]  was  two  miles 
away.  What  are  you  holding  me  for?  Let  go.  I  must 
open  the  door." 

^  September,  1902.  Reprinted  in  The  Lady  of  the  Barge.  Dodd, 
Mead  &  Co. 

E58] 


Common  Faults 

"For  God's  sake  don't  let  it  in,"  cried  the  old  man, 
trembling. 

"You're  afraid  of  your  own  son,"  she  cried  struggling. 
"Let  me  go.     I'm  coming,  Herbert,  I'm  coming." 

There  was  another  knock,  and  another.  The  old 
woman  with  a  sudden  wrench  broke  free  and  ran  from  the 
room.  Her  husband  followed  her  to  the  landing,  and 
called  after  her  appealingly  as  she  hurried  down  stairs. 
He  heard  the  chain  rattle  back  and  the  bottom  bolt  drawn 
slowly  and  stiffly  from  the  socket.  Then  the  old  woman's 
voice,  strained  and  panting. 

"The  bolt,"  she  cried  loudly.  "Come  down.  I  can't 
reach  it." 

But  her  husband  was  on  his  hands  and  knees  groping 
wildly  on  the  floor  in  search  of  the  paw.  If  he  could  only 
find  it  before  the  thing  outside  got  in!  A  perfect  fusillade 
of  knocks  reverberated  through  the  house,  and  he  heard 
the  scraping  of  a  chair  as  his  wife  put  it  down  in  the 
passage  against  the  door.  He  heard  the  creaking  of  the 
bolt  as  it  came  slowly  back,  and  at  the  same  moment  he 
found  the  monkey's  paw,  and  frantically  breathed  his 
third  and  last  wish. 

The  knocking  ceased  suddenly,  although  the  echoes 
of  it  were  still  in  the  house.  He  heard  the  chair  drawn 
back  and  the  door  opened.  A  cold  wind  rushed  up  the 
staircase,  and  a  long  loud  wail  of  disappointment  and 
misery  from  his  wife  gave  him  courage  to  run  down  to 
her  side,  and  then  to  the  gate  beyond.  The  street  lamp 
flickering  opposite  shone  on  a  quiet  and  deserted  road. 

It  should  be  observed  that  the  effect  of  horror 
is  relieved  by  the  theme  of  mother  love.     The 

[59] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

contrast  between  the  mother's  conduct  and  the 
father's  is  admirably  brought  out;  the  former 
has  that  perfect  love  which  casts  out  fear. 

It  is,  after  all,  a  legitimate  demand  of  readers 
that  they  be  given  entertainment  and,  if  possible, 
inspiration.  Writers  like  Thomas  Hardy,  who 
have  a  dreary,  hopeless  outlook  on  life,  are  not 
welcomed  in  popular  magazines,  however  deft 
their  literary  art.  The  sex  interest  of  Tess  of 
the  D'Urbervilles,  however,  would  probably  have 
made  it  desirable  as  a  serial  for  some  erotic 
periodical,  had  it  been  written  in  1916  instead 
of  in  1891.  But  unrelieved  tragedy  is  seldom 
desired  by  any  magazine.  It  is  only  Ibsen's 
wonderful  dramatic  craftsmanship,  his  sense 
of  effective  construction  in  playwriting,  that 
keeps  him  on  the  modern  stage.  The  end  of 
Shakespeare's  gloomiest  tragedies  leaves  us  with 
something  noble  and  inspiring  to  wonder  at; 
but  in  Ibsen  and  his  school  —  which  has  pene- 
trated the  short  story  as  well  as  the  drama  — 
there  is  nothing  to  relieve  the  pessimism.  A 
defiant  rebel  against  society,  Ibsen  busied  him- 
self with  drawing  up  indictment  after  indict- 
ment against  human  life.  But  this  is  not  the 
way  to  build  up  a  magazine  circulation  of  half 
a  million   or   a  million   copies.     The  spirit  of 

[60] 


Common  Faults 

any  successful  periodical  will  be  found  to  be 
optimistic. 

That  an  unfortunate  choice  of  subject  is  often 
responsible  for  the  rejection  of  a  story  is  sug- 
gested by  the  following  extracts  from  letters 
written  by  editors  of  prominent  magazines: 

The  story  which  you  kindly  sent  us  is  one  which  ordi- 
narily we  should  be  inclined  to  take.  Just  at  present, 
however,  we  have  a  large  supply  of  fiction  of  this  type 
and  do  not  feel  like  buying  more.  We  are  looking  for 
something  in  a  lighter,  more  humorous  vein. 

In  this  case  there  was  no  serious  fault  in 
the  subject  —  merely  a  failure  to  fit  the  need 
of  the  moment.  But  the  following  criticism  of 
another  story  indicates  how  loath  is  the  average 
editor  to  print  anything  that  may  arouse  the 
prejudice  of  conventional  readers,  readers  from 
the  great  American  middle  class: 

It  is  such  an  out-and-out  slap  at  churches  from  begin- 
ning to  end  that  I  am  afraid  of  it.  I  don't  mind  a  Kttle 
slap,  but  this  whole  story  seems  to  have  been  written  for 
that  purpose. 

The  tale  referred  to  was  far  above  the  average 
and,  but  for  its  subject  —  the  hypocrisy  of 
church  members  and  their  pastor  in  a  case  of 
a  fallen  woman  —  would  easily  have  sold  for 
a  high  price. 

,[61] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

The  third  example  was  a  sex  story,  rather 
well  written  but  in  its  utter  frankness  much 
better  suited  to  a  French  than  to  an  American 
public.  The  editor's  comment  was  merely: 
"This  is  Boccaccio  without  Boccaccio's  art." 
It  pays,  therefore,  to  find  out  in  advance  what 
American  editors  dislike.  Based  upon  years 
of  experience,  this  dislike  will  generally  be 
foimd  to  represent  accurately  the  feeling  of  the 
average  subscriber. 

A  magazine  editor  declared,  not  long  ago, 
that  most  of  Poe's  tales  would  be  refused  by 
popular  periodicals  to-day.  And  the  statement 
is  probably  true.  The  chances  are  that  if  Poe 
had  been  writing  from  1900  to  the  present  date, 
he  would  have  developed  in  a  different  direction. 
There  would  have  been  a  public  clamor  for  more 
detective  stories  like  The  Purloined  Letter  and 
The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue;  and  Poe,  waxing 
fat  and  prosperous,  would  have  forgotten  the 
morbid  fancies  embodied  in  his  gloomiest  mas- 
terpieces, such  as  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher 
and  The  Telltale  Heart,  and  would  have  turned 
his  amazing  ratiocinative  faculty  to  financial 
account.  Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle  has  ac- 
knowledged his  debt  to  the  detective  stories  of 
Poe.     Certain  it  is  that,   if  he  had  had  our 

[62] 


Common  Faults 

modern  popular  magazines  to  write  for,  Edgar 
Allan  Poe  would  not  have  languished  in  poverty. 
Probably  he  would  not  have  become  so  great 
an  artist,  but  he  would  have  had  fewer  financial 
worries. 

Editors  of  safe-and-sane  family  magazines 
object  to  stories,  however  well  written,  that  have 
criminals  as  heroes.  The  dashing  highwayman 
must  not  be  exploited  as  a  model  for  the  younger 
generation.  A  prominent  magazine  declined  a 
good  story  not  long  ago,  partly  on  this  ground, 
although  it  has  printed  a  long  series  of  "crook" 
tales  by  George  Randolph  Chester  —  the  Get- 
Rich-Quick-Walling  ford  stories.  Here  the  humor 
is  so  prominent,  however,  that  one  almost  dis- 
penses with  moral  judgments.  This  genial  rogue 
may  be  compared  (at  a  vast  distance)  to  Fal- 
staff,  in  that  he  is  felt  to  be  in  an  unreal  world 
where  everything  is  a  jest.  It  is  questionable, 
however,  whether  Everybody's  or  the  American 
Magazine  would  find  Wallingford  desirable  for 
their  class  of  readers.  Some  readers  of  the 
American  even  objected  violently  to  Jnez  Haynes 
Gillmore's  serial.  Angel  Island,  on  the  ground 
that  it  was  a  seductive  sex  story!  If  this  be 
seductive,  what  shall  one  say  of  —  but  discre- 
tion bids  us  pause. 

[63] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

The  unpleasant  was  manifested,  in  a  manu- 
script read  by  the  present  writer,  by  events 
leading  up  to  the  marriage  of  a  white  woman  to  a 
low-caste  native  of  India.  Her  poverty  and  the 
pleas  of  the  native,  a  widower,  for  his  mother- 
less children,  finally  broke  down  her  resistance; 
and  she  was  depicted  as  finding  happiness  in 
her  surrender.  It  was  a  well-told  tale,  but  the 
strong  human  appeal  would  not  quite  overcome 
the  prejudice  of  a  fairly  large  minority  of  readers 
against  such  a  plot.  Kipling  triumphed  over 
a  somewhat  similar  situation  in  Without  Benefit 
of  Clergy,  but  only  by  extremely  poignant  pathos. 
Readers  ought  not  to  be  so  conventional;  but 
they  are.  And  the  editor  must  reckon  with 
things  as  they  actually  exist,  not  as  they  should 
be.  It  is  quite  conceivable  that  even  Kipling's 
story  would  have  been  rejected  by  a  popular 
periodical,  if  it  had  been  offered  by  an  imknown 
writer. 

One  admirably  written  story  was  refused 
by  several  magazines  because  the  heroine  had 
a  slight  taint  of  negro  blood.  The  pathos  of 
the  close  was  so  effective  that  a  well-known 
editor  exclaimed:  "That  author  certainly  can 
write!"  Yet  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
accept  it.     A  second  editor  wrote  that  his  staff 

[64] 


Common  Faults 

was  so  divided  over  the  story  that  he  did  not 
venture  to  cast  a  deciding  vote  in  its  favor. 
And  a  third  said  that  his  rejection  was  based 
entirely  on  the  subject. 

Another  manuscript  that  came  to  the  present 
writer  was  objectionable  because  it  described, 
with  vividly  realistic  details,  the  washing  of 
some  extremely  dirty  school  children.  It  was 
humorous,  but  it  would  have  proved  too  much 
for  weak  stomachs.  The  following  is  a  passage 
in  point: 

"Tony  Crito,  come  here,  dear,"  said  the  teacher. 

Out  stepped  a  pair  of  man's  amputated  breeches. 
Six  inches  of  suspender  over  the  shoulder  of  a  dirty,  ragged 
green  sweater  held  the  nether  garment  up  under  the  arm- 
pits of  a  frowsy,  beady-eyed  Italian  urchin  of  seven.  .  .  . 
She  hastily  directed  the  tenant  of  the  trousers  to  a  front 
seat  and  addressed  her  remarks  to  him  there:  "Tony,  I 
fear  you  have  not  taken  a  bath." 

"Yes-a  ma'am,"  whined  Tony,  frightened  by  her  se- 
verity. 

"But  you  are  still  dirty,"  declared  the  teacher.  "Did 
you  get  into  the  bath-tub?" 

"No  can  use-a  der  tub,"  declared  the  youngster. 

"Why  not?" 

He  hung  his  head.  Johnnie,  who  had  started  inquir- 
ies of  a  surprisingly  clean  urchin  in  a  front  seat,  paused 
to  explain  behind  the  back  of  his  hand,  "Lots  o'  de 
Ginneys  use  de  tub  for  a  coal-bin;"   and  Tony's  silence 

was  a  confession. 

[65] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

"Tell  your  mother  to  use  a  basin,"  suggested  Helen. 

"No  got-a  de  basin,"  blubbered  the  child. 

"Use  anything,"  said  teacher  desperately. 

Johnnie's  confidential  low  tone  broke  in,  while  he 
pointed  to  the  pale  specimen  he  had  just  interrogated. 
"Angelo  says  his  mother  washed  him  wid  de  dinner-pot." 

The  pretty  lady  was  saved  the  necessity  of  comment- 
ing on  Angelo's  bath  by  Tony's  loud  wails  of  "Smell-a 
me!  Smell-a  me!"  which  invitation  she  and  Johnnie  both 
accepted,  only  to  find  the  child's  head  reeking  with  cheap 
perfume,  a  poor  substitute  for  kerosene. 

One  of  the  most  hopeless  kinds  of  short  stories 
is  the  one  that  makes  a  feeble  impression 
throughout,  that  lacks  what  in  the  trade  is 
called  "punch."  Perhaps  most  modern  editors 
would  put  Jane  Austen's  novels  under  this 
classification;  but  Jane  Austen  is  probably 
the  most  interesting  writer  about  uninteresting 
things,  about  humdrum  human  existence  in 
drab  little  villages,  that  English  literature  has 
produced.  The  truly  colorless  tale  is  the  one 
that  you  can't  remember  forty-eight  hours 
after  reading  it.  Five  tests  of  the  emotional 
effect  of  literature,  discussed  by  Professor  C. 
T.  Winchester  in  his  excellent  volume.  Some 
Principles  of  Literary  Criticism,^  are  the  fol- 
lowing: the  justice  or  propriety  of  the  emotion; 

1  Pp.  81  ff. 
[66] 


Common  Faults 

its  vividness  or  power;  its  continuity  or  steadi- 
ness; its  range  or  variety;  and  its  rank  or  qual- 
ity. The  second  test  is  the  one  just  referred  to. 
In  discussing  it,  Professor  Winchester  says  of 
Cowper,  the  poet:  "He  had  nice  sensibiHties, 
a  quick  eye  for  beauty,  a  graceful  humor,  a 
delicate  gift  of  phrase;  but  he  lacked  power. 
He  seemed  not  fully  alive." 

A  writer  without  strong  personality  is  as  good 
as  beaten  at  the  start.  Among  manuscripts 
submitted  by  amateurs  to  the  magazines  this 
colorless  type,  the  one  that  makes  no  definite 
impression,  is  the  most  common.  In  looking 
over  a  card  index  of  the  titles  of  a  good  many 
such  tales,  I  find  that  in  most  cases  I  cannot  re- 
call the  faintest  outline  of  the  stories  themselves 
—  although  I  experience  no  such  difficulty  in 
the  case  of  a  strongly  written  story,  no  matter 
how  faulty  in  details.  Hazlitt  somewhere  re- 
fers to  those  persons  "who  live  on  their  own 
estates  and  other  people's  ideas."  There  is  a 
large  number  of  such  persons  in  the  world; 
but  they  ought  not  to  be  writing  short  stories. 

Stories  that  are  too  intellectual  —  ix,,  either 
too  hard  to  understand  or  too  destitute  of  red 
blood  —  get  scant  attention  from  busy  editors 
of  fifteen-cent  monthlies  and  five-cent  weeklies. 

[67] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

No  magazine  with  a  circulation  of  more  than 
150,000  can  have  a  highly  intelligent  audience. 
I  recall  a  beautiful  short-story  manuscript  en- 
titled Pippa  Makes  a  Journey.  It  could  not  be 
enjoyed  to  the  full  except  by  a  person  familiar 
with  Browning's  dramatic  poem,  Pippa  Passes, 
The  heroine  spread  happiness  and  turned  people 
away  from  evil  in  much  the  same  manner  as 
did  Browning's  heroine,  although  the  plot  was 
substantially  original.  To  accept  such  a  story- 
would  be  to  overestimate  the  familiarity  of  maga- 
zine subscribers  with  the  great  English  poets. 

The  tale  which  is  too  intellectual  in  the  sense 
of  being  emotionally  arid  and  lacking  in  human 
sympathy  finds,  as  a  rule,  no  place  in  any 
popular  periodical.  Unlovable  authors  like  Wal- 
ter Savage  Landor  are  unpopular  because  they 
did  not  care  enough  for  their  fellow  men.  Mau- 
passant's art  seems  rather  cold  to  the  average 
reader;  it  is  the  lover  of  technique  who  best 
appreciates  this  great  Frenchman.  Some  of 
his  masterpieces  seem,  in  their  remorseless 
analysis  of  the  human  soul,  to  be  a  kind  of 
literary  vivisection;  and  they  arouse  an  actual 
resentment  in  a  commonplace  reader.  This  is 
not  true,  however,  of  all  his  stories.  If  you 
dislike  Maupassant,  your  literary  taste  needs 

[68] 


Common  Faults 

to  be  educated.  But  it  must  be  admitted  that 
a  periodical  with  a  large  circulation  can  under- 
take only  a  very  limited  amount  of  education 
without  danger  of  losing  subscribers. 

Charles  Lamb  tells  us  that  (unlike  Mau- 
passant) he  was  almost  moved  to  tears,  as  he 
used  to  stroll  down  the  crowded  Strand  in  Lon- 
don, by  the  privilege  of  seeing  so  much  hu- 
manity. Few  authors  to-day  are  so  well  beloved 
as  Lamb.  If  he  were  living  in  the  present  age 
and  if  his  genius  lay  in  fiction  rather  than  in 
the  Essays  of  Elia,  he  could  command  almost 
fabulous  prices  from  magazine  editors.  For 
stories  that  touch  the  heart  are,  after  all,  the 
most  popular.  1  Read  Lamb's  Dream  Children, 
which  comes  very  near  to  being  a  modern  short 
story,  and  judge  for  yourself.  I  quote  only 
the  climax: 

Then  I  told  them  [the  children]  how  for  seven  long 
years,  in  hope  sometimes,  sometimes  in  despair,  yet  per- 
sisting ever,  I  courted  the  fair  Alice  W — n;  and,  as  much 
as  children  could  understand,  I  explained  to  them  what 
coyness,  and  difficulty,  and  denial  meant  in  maidens  — 
when  suddenly,  turning  to  Alice,  the  soul  of  the  first  Alice 
looked  out  at  her  eyes  with  such  a  reality  of  re-present- 
ment that  I  became  in  doubt  which  of  them  stood  there 

^  One  of  the  finest  stories  of  pathos  in  recent  literature  is  Mary 
Wilkins'  The  Little  Maid  at  the  Door  (in  Silence  and  Other  Stories). 

[69] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

before  me,  or  whose  that  bright  hair  was;  and  while  I 
stood  gazing,  both  the  children  gradually  grew  fainter 
to  my  view,  receding,  and  still  receding  till  nothing  at 
last  but  two  mournful  features  were  seen  in  the  uttermost 
distance,  which,  without  speech,  strangely  impressed 
upon  me  the  effects  of  speech:  "We  are  not  of  Alice,  nor 
of  thee,  nor  are  we  children  at  all.  The  children  of  AUce 
call  Bartrum  father.  We  are  nothing;  less  than  nothing, 
and  dreams.  We  are  only  what  might  have  been,  and 
must  wait  upon  the  tedious  shores  of  Lethe  miUions  of 
ages  before  we  have  existence,  and  a  name"  —  and  im- 
mediately awaking,  I  found  myself  quietly  seated  in  my 
bachelor  armchair,  where  I  had  fallen  asleep,  with  the 
faithful  Bridget  [his  sister]  unchanged  by  my  side  — 
but  John  L.  (or  James  Eha)  was  gone  forever. 

An  objection  that  will  seem  curious  to  some 
writers  of  fiction  is  the  editor's  objection  to 
stories  that  are  "far  from  home"  —  that  have 
an  unfamiliar  foreign  setting.  For  the  fifteen- 
cent  periodicals,  American  themes  for  American 
readers  has  become  almost  a  formula.  Excep- 
tional tales,  especially  those  by  distinguished 
British  authors,  are  admitted  to  all  American 
magazines,  wherever  their  scenes  may  chance 
to  be  laid,  but  a  tendency  toward  the  geo- 
graphically remote  is  distinctly  discouraged. 
The  most  successful  of  American  periodicals, 
from  the  standpoint  of  circulation,  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post,  is  probably  the  most  typically 

[70] 


Common  Faults 

Americaix.  It  is  significant  that  no  attempt  has 
been  made  to  market  a  large  edition  of  the  Post 
in  England.  Harper  s,  Scribner's,  and  the  Cen- 
tury all  issue  important  English  editions.  The 
American  edition  of  that  highly  successful  Brit- 
ish periodical,  the  Strand  Magazine,  however, 
had  only  a  small  sale;  and  it  has  recently  been 
discontinued.  Evidently  middle-class  British 
taste  in  fiction  differs  markedly  from  American. 
The  Strand  prints  a  good  many  old-style  senti- 
mental love  stories  which  strike  the  sophisti- 
cated American  stenographer  and  shoe  clerk  as 
amusing.  The  whole  atmosphere  of  the  Strand 
is  certainly  almost  as  British  as  that  of  the 
Post  is  American.  The  best  British  writers  of 
fiction,  nevertheless,  are  much  sought  after  in 
this  country  —  and  rightly.  The  genuine  mas- 
ter may  place  his  theme  where  he  will,  and  edi- 
tors will  have  to  come  to  him:  witness  Kipling 
and  India. 

In  a  symposium  in  the  Bookman  (May,  1916), 
several  prominent  magazine  editors  tell  why 
manuscripts  are  rejected.  The  commonest  rea- 
son seems  to  be  simply  that  they  are  not  inter- 
esting enough.  The  editor  of  the  Cosmopolitan, 
Mr.  Edgar  G.  Sisson,  says:  "The  mediocre 
story  compares  to  the  real  story  in  the  way  that 

[71] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

the  tailor's  dummy  compares  to  a  man.  It 
may  be  clothed  in  fair  words,  but  it  isn't  human." 
The  editor  of  Ainslees^  Mr.  Robert  Rudd 
TVTiiting,  states  that  the  rejection  of  a  well- 
written  manuscript  by  his  magazine  "is  in  most 
cases  due  to  its  lack  of  what  in  people  we  call 
'personality.'"  Mr.  Mark  Sullivan,  of  Collier's 
Weekly,  thinks  that,  speaking  of  manuscripts 
generally,  "it  is  largely  like  the  phrase  that 
was  used  either  by  or  about '  Maggie '  in  Barrie's 
play,  What  Every  Woman  Knows:  it  is  all  a 
matter  of  charm.  If  you  have  it,  you  need  not 
have  much  else.  If  you  have  not  got  it,  nothing 
else  will  do."  But  one  may  safely  assume  that 
Mr.  Sullivan  insists,  as  a  rule,  on  good  technique 
and  attractive  subjects. 

At  all  events,  there  is  little  or  no  favoritism. 
An  editor  does  not  accept  a  story  because  he 
knows  the  author;  he  accepts  it  solely  because 
it  will  help  to  sell  his  magazine.  Any  other 
policy  would  cost  him  his  position.  Mr.  Arthur 
T.  Vance,  of  the  Pictorial  Review,  gives  a  con- 
vincing instance  in  point:  "There  was  a  man  in 
my  office  yesterday  who  has  written  and  sold 
more  than  two  million  words  of  fiction  and 
special  articles.  His  work  has  appeared  in 
various  magazines  of  standing,  including   The 

[72] 


Common  Faults 

Pictorial  Review,  The  Saturday  Evening  Post, 
and  The  Woman's  Home  Companion.  Yet  this 
was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  east  of  the 
Mississippi  River;  the  first  time  he  had  ever 
been  in  a  magazine  office;  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  seen  an  editor."  And  Mr.  Vance  adds: 
"The  country  is  full  of  writers  who  are  selling 
their  work  without  knowing  the  editors."  So 
much  for  the  myth  of  personal  "pull." 

Of  all  amateur  fallacies  the  most  amusing, 
if  not  the  most  common,  is  the  assumption  that 
a  story  gains  interest  and  value  from  being 
founded  directly  on  fact.  On  the  contrary, 
such  a  story  seldom  succeeds,  for  real  life  does 
not  fall  into  well-ordered  plots.  Furthermore, 
real  life  contains  numberless  superfluities  that 
must  be  pruned  away.  Good  fiction  is  not 
photographic;  it  represents  life  accurately,  but 
after  the  method  of  the  painter.  A  trained 
writer  sees  or  reads  about  a  real  incident  or  series 
of  incidents  that  illustrate  the  fumbling  incerti- 
tude of  nature.  He  says  to  himself  that  it  will 
not  be  difficult  to  change  that  fumbling  incerti- 
tude into  the  swift,  unerring  certainty  and 
satisfying  finality  of  art.  Real  life  is  often 
more  improbable  than  art,  more  bizarre,  more 
lawless    and    unclassifiable.     Some    newspapers 

[73] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

make  a  specialty  of  odd  items  that  seem  incred- 
ible. But  fiction  must  be  more  convincing  than 
actual  life.  Such  an  item  as  the  following, 
clipped  from  a  newspaper,  would  make  an  un- 
convincing basis  for  a  short-story  plot: 

Miss  W L ,  while  dreaming  and  waUdng  in 

her  sleep,  cut  off  her  hair.  She  dreamed  there  were 
burglars  in  the  house  and  that  they  told  her  if  she  would 
cut  off  her  hair  and  give  it  to  them  they  would  take 
nothing  else.  When  she  awoke  she  found  that  she  had 
left  her  bed,  gone  into  another  room,  and  cropped  her 
hair  close  to  her  head. 

I  recall  a  story  written  by  a  young  man  (who 
afterward  got  into  some  of  the  best  magazines), 
about  a  locomotive  engineer  whose  sweetheart 
lived  in  a  house  near  the  railroad  track.  One 
day  she  and  a  girl  companion  were  walking  on 
the  track  at  a  point  beyond  a  curve  or  a  cov- 
ered bridge,  where  they  could  not  be  seen  by 
this  engineer  in  time  to  stop  his  train.  What 
would  he  naturally  do?  The  young  author, 
declaring  that  he  took  his  story  from  real  life, 
made  the  engineer  increase  rather  than  decrease 
the  speed  of  his  locomotive,  in  order  that  the 
death  of  the  two  girls,  which  was  inevitable  in 
any  case,  might  be  an  painless  as  possible! 
True  or  not,  this  is  not  credible  to  the  average 

[74] 


Common  Faults 

reader  and  is  therefore  not  good  character- 
drawing  in  fiction.  Nature  does  what  art  dare 
not  do. 

In  dialogue,  too,  one  should  represent  rather 
than  transcribe  real  life  —  the  talk  of  real  people. 
Natural  and  convincing  dialogue  is  exceedingly 
hard  for  some  writers  of  fiction  to  acquire. ^ 
The  talk  of  their  characters  sounds  stilted, 
artificial,  often  futile.  It  is  just  talk  —  and 
not  in  character.  Good  dialogue  characterizes, 
advances  the  action,  or  explains  past  action. 
There  is  no  further  recipe  for  success  in  it,  save 
that  it  should  admit  no  superfluities.  It  should 
condense  and  heighten  the  talk  of  real  people. 
Some  one  has  said  that  good  dialogue  in  fiction 
is  like  the  real  talk  of  clever  people  in  their  best 
moments.  This  is  true  of  the  amusing  small- 
boy  dialogue  in  Booth  Tarkington's  Penrod 
tales  and  of  the  society  chat  in  the  stories 
of  Edith  Wharton.  The  commonplace  and 
the  dull  are  eliminated.  But  only  the  dra- 
matic faculty  —  the  faculty  of  putting  yourself 
in  another's  place  —  can  result  in  excellent 
dialogue. 

An  obvious  lack  of  this  faculty  is  discernible 
in  the  following  passage  from  an  unpublished 

^  A  useful  model  is  Anthony  Hope's  Dolly  Dialogues. 

[75] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

manuscript.  The  dialogue  is  "wooden";  it  is 
unconvincing.  It  fails  to  give  an  impression  of 
real  life.  Instead  of  ease  and  naturalness,  there 
is  stiffness  and  awkwardness: 

"If  you  refuse  to  believe  it,"  she  said,  with  her  in- 
fectious laugh,  in  which  there  now  hovered  a  slight  hint 
of  constraint,  "you  cannot  at  any  rate  refuse  to  try  the 
experiment.** 

He  did  not  notice  the  constraint.  "Certainly  I  won't 
refuse,'*  he  replied,  with  a  provoking  slow  smile.  "I've 
committed  a  thousand  worse  foUies  during  the  past  year." 

"You  are  the  perfection  of  frankness,"  she  rejoined. 
"But  as  a  mathematician  you  are  of  course  devoted  to 
exact  truth." 

"And  my  exact  opinion  of  you,  Mrs.  Worthing,  is  that 
you  are  a  congenial  companion  raised  to  the  nth  power." 

"How  devoid  of  romance!"  she  cried,  with  a  flutter  of 
pretended  dismay.  "Your  awful  sense  o^  reahty  and 
exactness  quite  upsets  me.  I  wonder  if  there  isn*t  some 
reason  why  I  should  quarrel  with  you  for  it.** 

"Let  us  not  search  too  long,  for  we  might  find  one," 
he  returned,  half  seriously.  "Please  allow  our  friendship 
to  rest  in  peace." 

"Ah!  that  is  ominous;  it  suggests  the  Latin  inscrip- 
tion." 

In  a  passage  from  another  manuscript  there 
is,  on  the  contrary,  at  least  a  fair  attempt 
at  characterizing  dialogue,  although  complete 
naturalness  is  not  attained  here,^either: 

[76]      .        ^ 


Common  Faults 

When,  a  few  days  later,  Ayrton  saw  his  genial  publisher, 
he  found  a  shock  awaiting  him.  Harding  placed  a  severe 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Meddler!"  he  said,  only  half 
in  jest,  "you  have  robbed  me  of  my  stenographer,  philos- 
opher, and  friend.     Take  your  novel  and  go  to  the  devil! " 

The  famous  author  grew  white.  He  stammered: 
"What  — why.?— " 

"Yes,  just  so,"  assented  his  tormentor.  "Miss  Morris 
is  threatening  to  resign  —  got  sick  of  us.  Her  father 
declares  that  the  work's  too  much  for  her;  that  she 
mustn't  return.  And  the  surprising  thing  is  that  she 
tamely  submits.  It's  not  like  her.  She's  a  fighter  — 
and  a  good  girl,  too.  Never  been  tired  before.  Must 
be  her  helping  you  with  your  confounded  novel.  Looks 
to  me,  my  boy,  as  if  you  had  messed  things  up  generally." 

The  pubhsher  looked  keenly  at  him,  and  chuckled. 
His  chuckle  became  a  laugh,  then  a  succession  of  spasms 
of  contagious  mirth.    The  walls  reverberated. 

Ayrton  flushed,  thought  better  of  a  desire  to  show 
anger,  and  capitulated.  "Well,  have  I  got  a  move  left," 
he  demanded,  "or  am  I  already  checkmated?" 

"You've  got  a  move,  all  right;  but  I  can't  tell  you. 
You  must  play  the  game  yourseK.  It  wouldn't  be  fair 
for  me  to  interfere.  And  with  your  microscopic  knowl- 
edge of  the  feminine  heart  I  must  say  you  have  about 
one  chance  in  —  let  me  see  — "  He  paused,  and  emitted 
a  seemingly  endless  succession  of  chuckles. 

So  nearly  perfect  is  Shakespeare's  dramatic 
faculty  that  one  speaks,  quite  properly,  of  his 
characters  as  real  people  and  of  their  talk  as 

t77] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

absolutely  in  character.  But  the  language  of 
Shakespeare,  except  in  some  of  his  prose  scenes, 
is  pitched  at  a  level  far  above  that  of  ordinary 
mortals  in  the  real  world.  The  following  pas- 
sage, however,  differs  only  in  degree,  not  in 
kind,  from  some  of  the  talk  in  the  best  of  our 
modem  short  stories.  But  who  to-day  could 
create  a  Falstaff  or  a  Prince  Hal? 

Prince.  Thou  say'st  true,  hostess;  and  he  slanders 
thee  most  grossly. 

Hostess.  So  he  doth  you,  my  lord;  and  said  this  other 
day  you  ought  [owed]  him  a  thousand  pound. 

Prince.     Sirrah,  do  I  owe  you  a  thousand  pound.'* 

Falstaff.  A  thousand  pound,  Hal!  A  million.  Thy 
love  is  worth  a  million;  thou  ow'st  me  thy  love. 

Hostess.  Nay,  my  lord,  he  called  you  Jack,  and  said 
he  would  cudgel  you. 

Fal     Did  I,  Bardolph? 

Bard.     Indeed,  Sir  John,  you  said  so. 

Fal.     Yea,  if  he  said  my  ring  was  copper. 

Prince.  I  say  'tis  copper.  Dar*st  thou  be  as  good 
as  thy  word  now? 

Fal.  Why,  Hal,  thou  know'st,  as  thou  art  but  man, 
I  dare;  but  as  thou  art  prince,  I  fear  thee  as  I  fear  the 
roaring  of  the  lion's  whelp. 

Prince.     And  why  not  as  the  hon? 

Fal.  The  King  himself  is  to  be  feared  as  the  lion. 
Dost  thou  think  I'll  fear  thee  as  I  fear  thy  father?  Nay, 
an  I  do,  I  pray  God  my  girdle  break. 

[78] 


Common  Faults 

Prince.  O,  if  it  should,  how  would  thy  guts  fall  about 
thy  knees!  .  .  .  Charge  an  honest  woman  with  picking 
thy  pocket!  why,  thou  impudent,  emboss'd  rascal,  if 
there  were  anything  in  thy  pocket  but  tavern-reckonings, 
and  one  poor  penny-worth  of  sugar-candy  to  make  thee 
long-winded,  if  thy  pocket  were  enriched  with  any  other 
injuries  but  these,  I  am  a  villain.  And  yet  you  will  stand 
to  it;  you  will  not  pocket  up  wrong.  Art  thou  not 
ashamed? 

FaL  Dost  thou  hear,  Hal?  Thou  know'st  in  the 
state  of  innocency  Adam  fell;  and  what  should  poor 
Jack  Falstaff  do  in  the  days  of  villainy?  Thou  seest  I 
have  more  flesh  than  another  man,  and  therefore  more 
frailty.     You  confess,  then,  you  picked  my  pocket? 

Prince.     It  appears  so  by  the  story. 

Fat.  Hostess,  I  forgive  thee.  Go,  make  ready  break- 
fast; love  thy  husband,  look  to  thy  servants,  cherish  thy 
guests.  Thou  shalt  find  me  tractable  to  any  honest 
reason;  thou  seest  I  am  pacified  still.  Nay,  prithee,  be 
gone. 

The  dialogue  of  a  good  many  modern  novels 
and  short  stories  —  that  of  Robert  W.  Cham- 
bers, for  example  —  often  fails  to  convince 
because  it  is  more  flippant,  inconsequent,  and 
trivial  than  that  of  real  life.  Mr.  Chambers 
writes  good  dialogue  when  he  wishes,  however. 
The  trouble  is  that  in  a  good  deal  of  his  work, 
and  in  that  of  many  other  magazine  entertainers, 
there  is  often  a  lack  of  elevation,  of  nobility. 

E79] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Their  dialogue,  like  their  sentiment  and  their 
moral  tone,  is  at  a  low  level.  It  was  said  of 
Goldsmith  that  he  "wrote  like  an  angel,  but 
talked  like  poor  Poll."  It  may  be  said  of  some 
of  our  modern  authors  that  their  characters 
talk  like  poor  Poll;  but  it  can  hardly  be  said  of 
them  that  they  write  like  angels. 


EXERCISES 

1.  Even  in  Conan  Doyle's  Sherlock  Holmes  stories 
there  are  many  minor  details  which  are  unconvincing. 
Make  a  list  of  these  in  three  or  four  of  the  tales  in  his 
volumes:  The  Adventures  of  SherlocJjiHolmeSy  The  Memoirs 
of  Sherlock  Holmes,  The  Return  of  Sherlock  Holmes.  You 
will  find  that  the  third  volume  is,  as  a  whole,  inferior  to 
the  first  two.  In  which  stories?  Or  in  what  respects? 
Are  the  unconvincing  elements  suflBcient,  in  any  case,  or 
cases,  to  affect  the  plausibiUty  of  the  whole  story? 

2.  Give  at  least  two  examples  of  "plot-ridden" 
characters  in  recent  magazine  stories.  You  will  find 
plenty  of  these  in  some  of  the  minor  periodicals,  where  a 
clever  twist  of  plot  is  more  desired  than  truthful  dehn- 
eation  of  character;  but  you  will  probably  have  difficulty 
in  discovering  many  such  characters  in  Harper*Sy  Scrib- 
ner*Sy  the  Century,  or  the  Atlantic. 

3.  On  the  other  hand,  you  will  find  in  the  four  maga- 
zines just  mentioned  not  a  few  examples  of  stories  which 
lack  action  —  enough  action  to  satisfy  the  average  reader 

[80] 


Common  Faults 

of  more  popular  magazines  such  as  the' Saturday  Evening 
Post  and  the  Pictorial  Review.  Make  outUnes  of  three 
such  stories  and  suggest,  if  possible,  how  more  action 
could  be  introduced.  Can  you  find  any  such  stories  in 
any   of  Kipling's  volumes?    Stevenson's?    O.   Henry's? 

4.  K  you  know  some  of  the  types  of  character  in  the 
remote  small  towns  of  New  England,  test  several  of  Mary 
Wilkins-Freeman's  stories  (in  the  volume,  A  New  England 
Nun,  for  example)  for  credibility  of  character  portrayal. 
Persons  unacquainted  with  New  England  have  often 
charged  her  with  drawing  grotesque  and  impossible 
people  —  people  too  eccentric  and  unreasonable  to  exist. 
Do  you  discover  any  evidence  of  this? 

5.  Find,  in  a  good  magazine,  at  least  one  example  of  a 
story  with  an  unpleasant  or  tragic  subject.  What  is  the 
effect  of  the  story  upon  you?  Upon  some  of  your 
friends? 

6.  Briefly  describe  five  stories  by  Poe  which  would 
probably  not  be  accepted  by  any  high-class  modern 
periodical  on  account  of  their  painful  or  disgusting  sub- 
jects. On  the  other  hand,  describe  five  in  which  the  art 
of  the  narrative  atones  for  the  unpleasantness  of  the 
subject.  In  which  division  would  you  place  The  Cask 
of  Amontillado  ?     The  Case  of  M.  Valdemar  ? 

7.  Give  an  example,  taken  from  a  newspaper  or  from 
your  own  experience,  of  an  actual  occurrence  too  incredi- 
ble to  make  a  good  subject  for  a  fiction  story. 

8.  Copy  two  or  more  passages  of  dialogue  which  seems 
to  you  to  be  artificial  in  any  respect  —  too  "high-flown," 
or  too  clever,  or  (in  the  case  of  an  uneducated  character) 

[81] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

too  nearly  correct.  Then  copy  two  passages  which  seem 
to  you  to  represent  dialogue  at  its  best;  and  tell  why. 
(You  will  find  O.  Henry  decidedly  uneven  as  to  the 
quality  of  his  dialogue.  Try  Henry  James'  later  novels 
and  short  stories  for  involved  sentences  and,  in  general, 
lack  of  simple,  straightforward  expression.) 

9.  Is  the  following  newspaper  item  a  good  subject 
for  a  story.'*     Why,  or  why  not? 

Miss  Mary  ,  an  assistant  in  the  city  library, 

died  today  from  the  efiFect  of  terrible  burns  inflicted 
with  suicidal  intent  last  night.  The  young  woman 
poured  kerosene  oil  over  her  head  and  shoulders  and 

then  thrust  her  head  in  the  furnace.     Miss was 

thirty-five  years  old  and  was  well  known  in  musical 
circles. 

10.  Stevenson's  The  Sire  de  Maletroifs  Door  (in  A 
Book  of  Short  Stories)  would  obviously  be  improbable  in 
a  present-day  setting.  Show  why.  Also  indicate  why  it 
would  be  especially  improbable  in  an  American  setting. 

11.  Give  an  example  of  a  story  with  a  happy  ending 
which  fails  to  convince  you  —  one  whose  ending  would 
logically  seem  to  be  tragic  or  at  least  somber.  On  the 
other  hand,  would  it  be  possible  to  supply  logical  happy 
endings  for  any  of  Poe's  gloomy  tales?  Why,  or  why 
not? 

12.  Find  a  story,  either  in  a  magazine  or  in  volumes 
by  writers  of  reputation,  which  to  you  is  hopelessly  dull; 
and  tell  why.  (K  two  students  disagree  on  a  partic- 
ular story,  the  discussion  can  often  be  made  highly 
illuminating  to  the  class  as  a  whole.) 

[82] 


Common  Faults 

13.  Describe  two  stories  of  contemporary  life  which 
show  very  close  acquaintance  with  the  subjects  they 
treat  —  baseball,  society  life,  seafaring,  lumbering,  hos- 
pital routine,  a  particular  city  or  section.  And  find,  if 
possible,  one  story  which  reveals  obvious  ignorance  of 
some  details  which  it  attempts  to  portray. 


[83] 


CHAPTER  III 

STRUCTURE 

How  few  are  willing  to  admit  the  possibility  of 
reconciling  genius  with  artistic  skill!     Yet  this  recon- 
ciliation is  not  only  possible,  but  an  absolute  necessity. 
—  Edgak  Allas  Poe,  Essay  on  Bryant. 

Scribe  used  to  say  that  "when  my  subject  is  good, 
when  my  scenario  is  very  clear,  very  complete,  I  might 
have  the  play  written  by  my  servant;  he  would  be 
sustained  by  the  situation;  —  and  the  play  would 
succeed."  From  Scribe,  who  was  only  an  ingenious 
mechanician  of  the  drama,  this  may  not  surprise  us; 
but  his  saying  would  not  be  greatly  objected  to  by  any 
true  dramatist,  poet,  or  prose-man,  for  it  is  only  an 
overstatement  of  the  truth.  Menander,  the  master 
of  Greek  comedy,  was  once  asked  about  his  new  play, 
so  Plutarch  tells  us,  and  he  anwered:  "It  is  composed 
and  ready;  I  have  only  the  verses  to  write."  Racine's 
son  reports  an  almost  identical  remark  of  his  father's 
in  answer  to  a  similar  inquiry'.  And  there  is  no  dis- 
pute possible  as  to  the  elevated  position  attained  by 
Racine  and  by  Menander  when  they  are  judged  by 
purely  literary  standards.  —  Brander  Matthews,  A 
Study  of  the  Drama} 

A    FIRST-CLASS  Writer  of  short  fiction  must  be 
a  lover  of  technique;   he  must  be  an  artist. 

^  Houghton  MiflBin  Co. 

[84] 


Structure 

For  the  structure  of  a  good  short  story  is  a  thing 
of  architectural  beauty.  One  of  Hawthorne's 
best  tales,  The  Artist  of  the  Beautiful,  may 
almost  be  taken  as  an  allegory  of  a  lifelong 
ambition  to  create  a  perfect  plot,  "a  thing  of 
beauty  and  a  joy  forever."  It  is  actually  a 
mechanical  butterfly  which  the  artist  in  the 
story  creates,  but  the  delicacy  of  workmanship 
required  is  much  the  same  as  that  which  con- 
fronted Hawthorne  himself  in  his  highly  imag- 
inative narrative  and  which  confronts  any 
conscientious  workman  to-day.  Kipling,  like 
so  many  short-story  writers  nowadays,  is  artist 
plus  journalist;  but  in  his  case  the  artist  is 
undeniably  present. 

Since  the  ascent  from  the  third-rate  and  the 
second-rate  magazines  to  the  first-rate  is  quite 
as  much  a  matter  of  mastery  of  structure  as 
of  any  other  one  thing,  it  is  important  that  the 
problem  be  put  clearly  before  the  ambitious 
beginner.  Poe,  who  was  one  of  the  greatest 
artists  that  have  used  the  short-story  form  as 
a  vehicle  of  expression,  declared  (borrowing 
some  of  his  thunder  from  Aristotle)  that  in  his 
time  plot  was  very  imperfectly  understood. 
"Many  persons  regard  it  as  mere  complexity  of 
incident.     In  its  most  rigorous  acceptation,  it 

[85] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

is  that  from  which  no  component  atom  can  be 
removed,  and  in  which  none  of  the  component 
atoms  can  be  displaced,  without  ruin  to  the 
whole." 

Above  all  else,  moreover,  the  short  story  as 
Poe  wrote  it  aimed  at  unity  of  effect.  In  a 
passage  which  has  become  classic,  he  says: 

A  skilful  literary  artist  has  constructed  a  tale.  If 
wise,  he  has  not  fashioned  his  thoughts  to  accommodate 
his  incidents;  but  having  conceived,  with  dehberate 
care,  a  certain  unique  or  single  effect  to  be  wrought  out,  he 
then  invents  such  incidents  —  he  then  combines  such 
events  as  may  best  aid  him  in  estabUshing  this  precon- 
ceived effect.  If  his  very  initial  sentence  tend  not  to  the 
out-bringing  of  this  effect,  then  he  has  failed  in  his  first 
step.  In  the  whole  composition  there  should  be  no  word 
written  of  which  the  tendency,  direct  or  indirect,  is  not 
to  the  one  pre-estabhshed  design.  As  by  such  means, 
with  such  care  and  skill,  a  picture  is  at  length  painted 
which  leaves  in  the  mind  of  him  who  contemplates  it  with 
a  kindred  art  a  sense  of  the  fullest  satisfaction.  The  idea 
of  the  tale  has  been  presented  unblemished,  because  un- 
disturbed; and  this  is  an  end  unattainable  by  the  novel.^ 

This  type  of  story  is  still  frequently  found 
in  the  best  magazines.  Deficient  as  many 
modern  tales  are  in  finish  of  style,  most  of  them 
are  astonishingly  good  in  technique,  in  effective- 

1  Graham's  Magazine,  May,  1835. 
[86] 


Structure 

ness  of  structure,  and  in  economy  of  means. 
The  short  story  as  Poe  wrote  it  may,  purely 
by  way  of  useful  suggestion  rather  than  pre- 
scription, be  defined  as  a  tale  which,  purposing 
to  convey  a  single  effect,  or  an  impression  of  a 
situation,  sets  forth  to  secure  this  effect  by  an  in-  1 
troduction  which  strikes  the  keynote  {the  opening 
of  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher  is  a  model 
in  this  respect),  by  skilful  touches  of  suggestion 
which  hint  at  the  outcome  without  revealing  it, 
by  maintenance  of  atmosphere  and  unity,  and  by 
progress  toward  a  climax  which  is  unexpected 
and  dramatic,  and  which,  with  the  addition  at 
times  of  a  few  words  to  restore  a  quieter  tone, 
abruptly  ends  the  narrative.  This  implies,  cer- 
tainly, that  the  construction  of  a  notable  short 
story  is  no  child's  play.  It  must  have  a  design 
as  definite  as  a  geometrical  figure. 

A  short-story  writer  is  not  necessarily  a  good 
novelist;  and  vice  versa.  There  is  really  little 
in  common  between  the  two  literary  forms. 
Professor  Brander  Matthews  stoutly  aflSrms: 
"It  cannot  be  said  too  emphatically  that  the 
genuine  Short-Story  abhors  the  idea  of  the 
Novel."  1  The  rich  complexity  of  a  great  novel 
(Vanity  Fair  contains  about  sixty  characters)  y 

1  The  Philosophy  of  the  ShoH-Stary,  p.  26.  / 

[87] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

is  and  must  be  absent.  The  utmost  compres- 
sion and  accuracy  of  aim  are  essential.  Fre- 
quently the  short  story  fulfils  the  three  unities 
of  the  drama  —  those  of  time,  place,  and  action. 
Hawthorne's  The  Ambitious  Guest,  Poe's  The 
Masque  of  the  Red  Death,  and  Stevenson's  The 
Sire  de  Maletroifs  Door  are  confined  to  one  day 
and  one  locality.  On  the  other  hand,  one  of  the 
greatest  of  modern  short  stories,  Kipling's 
The  Man  Who  Would  Be  King,  covers  two  years 
—  chiefly,  however,  by  two  exceedingly  vivid 
contrasted  scenes.  And  Maupassant's  Tlie 
Necklace  covers  ten  years!  Here  again,  nev- 
ertheless, the  story  consists  chiefly  of  two 
contrasted  scenes. 

Maupassant,  in  this  as  in  many  of  his  master- 
pieces, succeeded  in  keeping  far  below  the  5,000- 
word  standard.  Some  of  his  best  work  was 
done  within  3,000  words.  For  masterly  com- 
pression and  directness  he  is  probably  the  best 
author  to  study.  The  average  story,  when 
accepted  by  an  editor,  is  promptly  condensed 
by  him.  Sometimes,  in  the  case  of  a  new 
writer,  from  1,000  to  2,000  words  are  removed, 
with  the  result  that  the  story  becomes  more 
craftsmanlike  and  effective.  The  commonest 
and  most  salutary  correction,  in  any  form  of 

[88] 


Structure 

written  composition,  is  amputation.  In  many- 
stories  there  is  too  much  beginning  and  too  much 
ending  —  and  some  superfluous  tissue  in 
between.  Walter  Pater's  dictum  on  this  point 
of  brevity  is  suggestive:  ''All  art  does  but  con- 
sist in  the  removal  of  surplusage." 

In  verse,  Browning  succeeded  in  telling  a 
remarkable  story.  My  Last  Duchess,  in  about 
450  words.  In  his  dramatic  monologue,  a 
first-person  method  of  narration  (with  a  silent 
listener)  makes  possible  the  utmost  brevity  of 
skilful  suggestion;  and  suggestion  is  always 
more  forcible  than  direct  information.  Gossips 
have  known  this  from  time  immemorial. 

In  My  Last  Duchess,  however,  an  intelligent 
reader  is  required  to  get  all  the  subtle  sug- 
gestions, both  of  character  and  event.  So 
much  brevity  is  probably  not  quite  consistent 
with  perfect  clearness.  Those  who  are  inter- 
ested in  the  dramatic  and  narrative  effect  ob- 
tained in  Browning's  monologues  will  do  well 
to  consult  also  Andrea  del  Sarto,  a  very  modern 
"marriage-problem"  story.  One  need  no  longer 
fear  the  "high-brow"  stigma  that  used  to 
attach  to  the  study  of  Browning;  for  Mr. 
William  Grifiith  has  discovered  rich  motion- 
picture  possibilities  in  him!    The  present  writer 

[89] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

can  testify  to  this,  after  seeing  Mr.  Griffith's 
film  adaptation  of  Pippa  Passes.  The  fact  is, 
of  course,  that  pantomime  —  and  motion  pic- 
tures are  only  a  subdivision  of  pantomime  —  is 
always  the  skeleton  of  any  good  play  or  dra- 
matic poem;  frequently,  also,  of  a  dramatically 
constructed  short  story.  Maurice  Hewlett's 
Madonna  of  the  Peach  Tree  ^  is  a  series  of  vivid 
scenes  in  which  a  beautiful  young  mother  whom 
the  superstitious  Italian  peasants  believe  to 
be  the  Madonna  appears  to  various  groups  of 
people  and  causes  them  to  fall  down  in  worship. 
It  is  an  extraordinarily  effective  and  sincere 
example  of  craftsmanship  in  which  the  structure 
is  so  simple  that  a  child  could  analyze  it.  Much 
the  same  method  is  to  be  seen  in  Fleta  Camp- 
bell Springer's  excellent  story.  In  Step,^  which 
was  starred  by  the  Boston  Transcript  as  one  of 
the  notable  short  stories  of  1914.  Mrs.  Spring- 
er's own  account  of  the  working  out  of  the 
structure  of  this  tale  is  as  follows: 

The  story  is  an  attempt  to  portray  an  entire  life  and 
personality  by  means  of  four  pictures  snapped,  so  to 
speak,  at  long  intervals  in  the  life  of  the  central  char- 
acter, but  at  moments  which  light  up  the  spaces  between. 
This  method  grew  naturally  out  of  the  fact  that  the  story 

1  In  Little  Novels  of  Italy.  ^  Harper's  Magazine,  July,  1914. 

[90] 


Structure 

was  itself  suggested  to  me  by  just  such  a  detached  pic- 
ture —  the  picture  which  afterward  became  the  third  one 
of  the  four. 

I  was  sitting  one  day  in  the  park  when  a  woman  with 
her  baby  and  nursemaid  came  and  settled  themselves  on 
the  grass  not  far  away.  The  instant  I  saw  the  woman 
I  knew  that  she  had  never  been  meant  for  a  mother. 
The  word  "counterfeit"  presented  itself  immediately  in 
connection  with  her  attitude  toward  the  child.  And 
with  that  faithfulness  to  truth  with  which  our  senses 
sometimes  reject  their  own  evidence,  I  seemed  to  see 
this  woman  in  her  rightful  sphere  —  a  rigid  little  school- 
mistress, the  kind  of  schoolmistress  children  both  fear 
and  despise.  A  nature  made  up  of  elements  chemically 
antagonistic  to  the  rest  of  mankind  —  a  nature,  when  I 
had  finally  analyzed  it,  "out  of  step"  with  life. 

"It  was  not,"  to  quote  from  the  story  itself,  "the  idea 
of  her  having  a  child  that  struck  me  as  incongruous;  it 
was  the  idea  of  a  child  having  her  for  a  mother.  She  was 
absorbed  in  the  baby,  putting  on  its  little  jacket,  tying 
the  little  kid  bootees  more  snugly  —  and  all  the  while 
going  on  in  that  absurd  baby  talk  that  is  such  a  pretty 
oflSciousness  in  very  young  mothers.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  it  was  not  her  child,  I  wondered  —  and  then  I 
saw  the  fierceness  with  which  she  held  the  little  body 
close  to  her  own,  as  if  she  would  clutch  its  naked  spirit 
in  her  two  thin  hands.  There  was  no  longer  any  doubt. 
.  .  .  Yet  I  had  that  same  impression  of  falsity,  of  acting, 
that  I  had  felt  that  day  in  her  house  a  year  before." 

In  a  story  of  this  kind  the  thesis  must  precede  the  plot, 
and  my  thesis  was  that  no  person  of  one  type  can  c(m- 
sciously  become  another  type. 

[91] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Briefly,  then,  my  plot  was  this:  A  cold,  selfish  woman, 
entirely  lacking  the  maternal  instinct  and  all  the  normal 
feminine  impulses,  sets  out  consciously  to  become  like 
other  women.  She  leaves  her  profession  of  teaching, 
bends  all  her  efforts  to  making  herself  attractive  to  one 
man,  achieves  marriage,  has  a  child,  the  child  dies  in- 
evitably, leaving  the  husband  aged  and  saddened,  while 
she  looks  younger,  better,  at  the  end  of  the  story  than  at 
the  beginning. 

Obviously  there  were  no  dramatic  moments  to  record. 
Whatever  drama  there  was  took  place  in  the  mind  of  the 
central  character.  Seeing  the  woman  with  her  baby  in 
the  park  that  day  had  not  been  a  dramatic  incident;  it 
had,  on  the  other  hand,  been  most  undramatic  and  cas- 
ual; and  I  realized  that  it  was  that  very  thing  which  had 
made  the  incident  so  illuminating  and  eloquent. 

I  put  the  story  in  the  mouth  of  an  entire  outsider,  a 
stranger  with  no  "story"  connection  whatever,  except 
that  the  "pictures'*  are  seen  through  her  eyes.  The 
first  picture  must  show  the  woman  in  her  original  and 
real  character.  Therefore  I  put  her  in  the  schooLhouse, 
and  devised  a  brief  incident  or  two  to  show  the  children's 
fear  of  her,  and  her  lack  of  sympathy  for  them. 

The  next  picture  was  "snapped"  in  her  home  in  New 
York  after  she  had  become  Mrs.  Branson,  and  after  she 
had  dehberately  changed  herself  as  to  dress,  manner, 
speech,  and  mode  of  life  so  starthngly  that  the  reciter  of 
the  story  fails  to  recognize  the  figure  seen  in  the  first 
picture. 

The  third  picture  is  the  one  first  quoted,  the  one  which 
suggested  the  story.  And  this  picture,  in  which  the  death 
of  the  child  is  foreshadowed,  is  as  obviously  the  cHmax 

[92] 


Structure 

as  would  be,  say,  a  murder  committed  by  an  unscrupu- 
lous character  in  a  story  of  dramatic  action  —  leaving 
for  the  fourth  and  last  picture  merely  the  presentation  of 
the  final  effect  of  the  experience  upon  the  character. 
Therefore  I  chose  for  the  last  picture  a  mere  passing 
glimpse  of  Mrs.  Branson  in  her  mourning  black,  walking 
down  the  Avenue  with  her  husband.  Her  expression,  her 
appearance,  as  well  as  the  changed  appearance  of  the 
husband,  make  plain  the  effect  of  the  experiences  through 
which  they  have  passed. 

For  brevity  (about  1600  words)  and  strict 
adherence  to  the  three  unities,  Arthur  Morri- 
son's admirable  little  cameo  of  realism  in  the 
East  End  of  London,  On  the  Stairs,^  will  repay 
careful  study.  The  action,  as  indicated  by  the 
title,  all  takes  place  on  the  stairs  of  a  tenement 
building,  the  kind  of  tenement  "where  the  front 
door  stood  open  all  day  long,  and  the  woman- 
kind sat  on  the  steps,  talking  of  sickness  and 
deaths  and  the  cost  of  things."  Three  flights 
up,  on  the  landing,  an  old  woman  tells  a  com- 
panion about  a  dying  son.  When  the  doctor 
comes  out,  he  gives  the  mother  five  shillings  to 
buy  medicine  —  which  she  saves  for  the  (to 
her  mind)  inevitable  funeral!  Nothing  leaves 
the  room  all  night,   ''nothing  that  opened  the 

1  In  Tales  of  Mean  Streets;  also  in  Cody's  The  World's  Greatest  Short 
Stories. 

[93] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

door,^'  Next  morning  the  two  old  women  re- 
appear on  the  stairs  and  the  mother  says  that 
she  must  be  stirring,  to  make  arrangements 
for  the  funeral.  There  is  unusual  power  of 
atmosphere  in  the  story,  partly  due  to  the  per- 
fect unity  and  great  compression.  It  is  not 
pleasant,  but  one  feels  its  truth  to  the  life  which 
it  aims  to  portray.  To  the  student,  its  struc- 
ture is  its  most  interesting  feature. 

Ward  Muir's  account  of  the  genesis  of  his 
unusual  tale.  Sunrise,  and  of  his  general  methods 
of  composition  is  commended  to  every  young 
author.  It  shows  the  ambition,  and  in  this 
case  the  achievement,  of  the  real  artist: 

In  this  story  [^Sunrise}  I  departed  absolutely  from  all 
my  usual  rules.  To  begin  with,  it  was  built  on  what  I 
call  a  theoretical  plot.  These  I  very  seldom  bother  about. 
You  hit  on  a  theoretical  ethical  situation,  then  invent 
people  and  a  place  to  express  it.  For  example,  you  say 
to  yourself:  "Suppose  it  was  possible  to  prevent  a  war 
by  murdering  a  baby  in  cold  blood,  should  it  be  done?'* 
and  then  proceed  to  build  the  situation  in  actual  drama. 

I  got  the  idea:  "Suppose  it  was  possible  for  a  grown-up 
person  never  to  have  seen  the  sun,  what  would  he  or  she 
think  if  suddenly  presented  with  the  phenomenon  of  the 
sun  rising  —  a  phenomenon  which  we  see  without  the 
slightest  emotion?'* 

It  seemed  a  dramatic  notion.  I  cast  about  me  to  make 
it  practicable,  and  naturally  thought  first  of  a  blind  man 

[94] 


Structure 

restored  to  sight.  Old.  Besides,  he  would  have  felt  the 
sun  on  his  face,  and  heard  about  it.  Therefore  some  sort 
of  cave  dweller.  To  be  more  effective,  a  woman,  not  a 
man.  And  so  on.  Where.?  Some  queer  part  of  the 
earth:  such  a  thing  is  unthinkable  in  a  civilized  country. 
China,  for  various  reasons.  Here  I  broke  another  rule 
of  mine  —  never  to  write  about  a  place  I  have  not  per- 
sonally seen.  This  I  regard  as  important.  Neverthe- 
less, I  had  to  let  it  go.  I  have  never  been  in  China,  but 
have  talked  with  very  many  who  have. 

You  see  how  the  thing  was  built.  All  quite  deliberate, 
every  single  touch  chosen  for  a  reason.  It  was  only  as  I 
looked  into  it  that  I  saw  that  a  spiritual  adventure  ought 
really  to  follow  the  course  of  the  physical  one,  to  make  it 
subtler.     Hence  the  missionaries. 

The  story  was  written  straight  ahead,  at  great  length; 
then  ferociously  cut:  then  typed  and  then  most  minutely 
worked  on.  The  mere  correction  of  this  story  took  me 
at  least  a  month  —  I  mean  the  polishing  and  refining  of 
it.  In  case  it  is  of  interest  I  may  here  say  that  I  never 
send  out  a  serious  story  (by  which  I  mean  a  story  to  a 
really  good  magazine  —  of  course  I  do  lots  of  journalism) 
without  going  over  it  with  a  microscope  some  twenty  or 
thirty  times :  this  not  so  much  for  re-writing  purposes  as 
for  the  choice  of  words.  My  typescripts  (I  write  either 
on  the  machine  or  with  a  pen)  are  covered  with  altered 
words  —  altered  sometimes  for  the  sake  of  sound  and 
sometimes  to  sharpen  the  precision  of  meaning  —  and 
also  I  cut  and  cut  and  cut  and  boil  down.  Then  the 
whole  thing  is  retyped,  and  this  final  typescript  requires 
no  alteration  whatever.  If  I  get  a  proof  I  scarcely  ever 
have  to  alter  a  single  word,  because  my  final  original  was 

[95] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

as  perfect  as  I  could  make  it.  This  I  personally  count 
to  be  an  important  feature  of  our  craft:  I  think  that 
some  authors  do  not  spend  enough  pains  on  their  vocab- 
ulary in  any  given  story.  I  admit  it  doesn't  "pay,"  at 
least  not  at  first  glance,  though  in  the  long  run  I  have 
the  faith  to  believe  that  it  does.  But  it  is  an  essential 
drudgery  of  craftsmanship. 

Mr.  Muir  adds  that  the  tales  of  his  own  which 
he  himself  likes  best  are  his  very  short  ones, 
such  as  Motives  ^  and  Behind  the  Windows.'^ 
"They  get  a  drama  into  about  2,000  words  — 
which  I  flatter  myself  is  an  exceedingly  difficult 
(and  artistically  self-denying)  thing  to  do.  If 
I  may  say  so,  the  American  short  story  is  apt 
to  spread  itself  and  not  sufficiently  study  econ- 
omy of  words,  etc.,  in  getting  its  eflfect,  and  is 
too  fond  of  dwelling  on  local  color  and  intro- 
ducing unnecessary  characters." 

W.  W.  Jacobs  modestly  describes  his  methods 
thus:  "I  start  with  an  idea,  or  the  beginnings 
of  one,  and  then  let  it  develop.  That  is  all 
that  I  can  say  about  it."  But  those  of  us  who 
have  read  Mr.  Jacobs'  stories  know  that  the 
process  is  not  so  simple  as  this  sounds.  His 
development  of  a  narrative  idea  is  always  a 
revelation  of  art,  and  of  highly  painstaking 
art.     Like  many  of  the  best  short-story  writers, 

1  McClure's,  June,  1914.  2  McClure's,  Aug.,  1913. 

[96] 


Structure 

he  comes  very  close  to  the  drama  in  his  tech- 
nique. 

There  is  much  more  in  common  between  the 
short  story  and  the  drama  than  would  at  first 
be  supposed.  The  only  kind  of  novel  that  can 
readily  and  properly  be  dramatized  is,  as  Pro- 
fessor Brander  Matthews  has  pointed  out,^ 
one  which  is  "inherently  dramatic,"  one  in 
which  "the  central  figure  is  master  of  his  fate 
and  captain  of  his  soul."  "Action  in  the  drama 
is  thus  seen  to  be  not  mere  movement  or  external 
agitation;  it  is  the  expression  of  a  will  which 
knows  itself."  Brunetiere  made  it  plain,  adds 
Professor  Matthews,  that  "the  drama  must 
reveal  the  human  will  in  action;  and  that  the 
central  figure  must  know  what  he  wants  and 
must  strive  for  it  with  incessant  determination." 
This  assertion  of  the  human  will  is  the  secret 
of  the  success  of  many  of  the  greatest  short 
stories.  It  applies,  at  the  climax,  to  Henry 
Rowland's  The  Copy-Cat,  mentioned  in  the 
first  chapter.  It  is  the  entire  theme  of  Mr. 
Foote's  Opus  43,  Number  6;  also  of  Mary 
Wilkins'  The  Revolt  of  ''Mother,''  and  of  the 
story  which  Poe  himself  regarded  as  his  greatest, 
Ligeia,     To  this  tale  he  prefixes  a  remarkable 

^  A  Study  of  the  Drama,  p.  95. 

[97] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

quotation  from  Joseph  Glanvil,  which  shows 
that  he  had  meditated  deeply  upon  the  subject, 
for  narrative  purposes,  of  the  power  of  the 
human  will: 

And  the  will  therein  lieth,  which  dieth  not.  Who 
knoweth  the  mysteries  of  the  will,  with  its  vigour?  For 
God  is  but  a  great  will  pervading  all  things  by  nature  of 
its  intentness.  Man  doth  not  yield  himseK  to  the  angels, 
nor  unto  death  utterly,  save  only  through  the  weakness 
of  his  feeble  will. 

Peter  B.  Kyne's  series  of  tales  ^  about  Cap- 
tain Matt  Peasley,  of  Thomaston,  Maine,  and 
old  Cappy  Ricks,  his  employer,  from  the  same 
shipping  port,  reveals  also  this  naked  assertion 
of  human  will,  and  the  clash  of  two  opposing 
wills  —  in  a  much  more  wholesome,  if  less  ar- 
tistic, way  than  the  morbid  Ligeia.  It  is  this 
assertion  of  will,  sweeping  aside  all  obstacles, 
that  makes  possible  the  directness  and  brevity 
of  so  many  excellent  short  stories;  and  a  clash 
of  wills  makes  possible  the  series  by  Mr.  Kyne. 

It  is  assertion  of  will  that  makes  possible 
the  struggle  which  in  some  form  must  be  the 
theme  of  nearly  all  good  short  fiction  —  and 
long  fiction  as  well.     It  is  evident  that  real 

^  In  the  Saturday  Evening  Post.  Published  in  book  form  [under  the 
title,  Cappy  Ricks. 

[98] 


Structure 

life  is  a  continual  struggle;  in  terms  of  evolu- 
tion, a  struggle  for  existence  and  the  survival 
of  the  fittest.  The  conflict  may  be,  as  Pro- 
fessor W.  B.  Pitkin  1  has  pointed  out,  between 
man  and  the  physical  world,  between  man  and 
man,  or  between  one  force  and  another  in  the 
same  man.  The  most  forcible  illustration  of 
the  last  is  perhaps  Stevenson's  Dr.  Jehyll  and 
Mr.  Hyde,  The  first  is  shown  in  almost  any 
story  which  portrays  the  pioneer  or  the  outdoor 
man.  The  Popular  and  Adventure  are  full  of  such 
tales.  The  Post  is  full  of  stories  of  the  second 
class,  particularly  the  struggle  of  man  against 
man  in  the  business  game.  War  stories  are  a 
subdivision  of  this  class:  the  struggle  of  nation 
against  nation.  Wherever  there  is  conflict,  there^ 
is  material  for  a  story,  whether  in  the  great 
events  of  the  French  Revolution  or  in  the 
pranks  of  small  boys.  There  is  a  decisive  mo- 
ment that  forms  a  climax;  and  there  is  some 
driving  power,  some  strong  motive,  that  spurs 
men  on  to  this  moment. 

When  a  story  drags,  it  is  often  from  a  lack  of 
definiteness   of   purpose.     The   novelist,    as   in. 
the  case  of  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  frequently 
used  to  let  his  narrative  shape  itself  as  it  pro- 

*  Short  Story  Writing,  p.  74. 

[99] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

ceeded.  He  made  no  j)reliminary  outline  of 
the  plot.  But  woe  to  the  short-story  writer 
who  consistently  pursues  such  a  method!  He 
might  better  have  a  millstone  hung  about  his 
neck  and  be  dropped  into  the  middle  of  the 
sea.  The  dramatist  Dekker,  a  contemporary 
of  Shakespeare,  was  an  "  inspirationist " ;  that 
is,  he  trusted  to  inspiration  rather  than  to  hard 
and  methodical  work.  And  the  result  was  that 
his  latest  plays  were  just  as  slipshod  and  ineffec- 
tive in  structure  as  his  first  —  though  excellent 
in  certain  other  respects.  The  present  writer 
knows  of  a  successful  novelist  who  has  essayed 
several  short  stories  without  success  because 
she  puts  pen  to  paper  without  a  clear  idea  of 
how  her  story  is  to  be  developed.  She  has 
failed  to  visualize  its  geometrical  design.  Har- 
old Bell  Wright  is  a  man  too  commonplace  in 
inventiveness,  too  destitute  of  story  ideas,  to 
produce  an  effective  short  story.  His  effort 
in  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal  {The  Girl  at  the 
Spring  ^)  was  nothing  beyond  the  common- 
place. 

Owen  Wister's  trenchant  article  ^  on  Quack 
Novels  and  American  Democracy,  would  have 
lacked  material  if  he  had  treated  the  American 

1  Sept.,  1912.*  Atlantic  Monthly,  June,  1915. 

[100.1 


Structure 

short  story.  More  real  braiii^  are  ^  l-equlred 
for  the  construction  of  an  excellent  short  story 
than  for  a  hundred  pages  of  many  a  novel.  A 
writer  of  successful  historical  novels  was  once 
heard  to  remark  that  he  wished  some  one  would 
teach  him  how  to  write  ,a  short  story.  He  had 
tried  it  several  times,  but  had  not  the  remotest 
idea  of  the  recipe  for  success.  It  is  significant 
that  most  short-story  writers  succeed  at  the 
novel,  if  they  try  after  the  age  of  thirty,  whereas 
many  really  notable  novelists  have  failed  to 
achieve  anything  beyond  mediocrity  in  the 
brief  tale.  It  is  mainly  a  matter  of  technique, 
a  matter  of  structure.  Leisurely  methods  do 
not  suffice.  The  writer  of  marketable  short 
stories  must  know  precisely  —  not  hazily  or 
lazily  —  what  he  wants  to  do.  And  he  must 
go  direct  to  his  goal.  As  for  reading,  let  him 
get  by  heart  (literally,  if  he  wishes)  the  best  of 
Maupassant,  the  best  of  Poe,  and  the  best  of 
Kipling.  And,  for  style,  let  him  study  Steven- 
son, who  has  many  pupils  among  well-known 
writers  of  to-day.  Maupassant,  says  Professor 
Matthews,  had  "a  Greek  sense  of  form,  a  Latin 
power  of  construction,  and  a  French  felicity  of 
style."  What  more  can  any  amateur  desire 
in   a   model  .^ 

[101] 


The  'Gohtemporary  Short  Story 

'*  On-e  of 'the -short  story  MSS.  examined  by  the 
present  writer  was  faulty  in  structure  because 
of  its  handUng  of  the  time  element  and  of  the 
conclusion.  A  blind  woman  was  taken  into  a 
house  by  a  sympathetic  man  who  had  seen  her 
stumble  and  fall.  She  told  him  that  fourteen 
years  before,  when  she  was  twenty,  she  had 
been  happily  married.  A  year  afterward  her 
husband  was  badly  injured  in  an  automobile  ac- 
cident, his  face  being  horribly  disfigured.  Mor- 
bidly fearing  that  she  might  shrink  from  him 
on  account  of  his  appearance,  she  deliberately 
blinded  herself.  After  a  few  months,  how- 
ever, his  scars  healed  and  he  was  nearly  or  quite 
as  handsome  as  ever.  Finding  his  wife  some- 
thing of  a  burden,  by  reason  of  her  blindness, 
he  became  unfaithful  to  her.  She  learned  the 
facts  and  left  his  house  without  telling  him  or 
any  of  her  relatives  where  she  was  going.  They 
had  never  discovered  her  afterward.  Upon  the 
conclusion  of  her  tale,  she  left  her  auditor,  ask- 
ing him  not  to  try  to  find  her. 

Obviously,  even  if  well  constructed,  this 
would  be  too  sentimental  and  unconvincing; 
but  the  structure  at  least  could  be  improved. 
The  story  should  begin  at  the  point  where  the 
husband  is  brought  home  after  the  accident. 

[102] 


Structure 

Then  the  previous  circumstances  of  their  mar- 
ried Hfe  could  be  briefly  introduced.  The  tell- 
ing of  the  story  to  the  sympathetic  man  fourteen 
years  afterward  should  be  discarded.  It  loses 
in  dramatic  force  by  this  indirect  method. 
The  closing  scene  should  be  that  in  which  the 
blind  wife  confronts  her  husband  and  charges 
him  with  infidelity.  And  the  tale  should  per- 
haps end  with  a  mere  sentence  or  two  describing 
her  flight  —  for  example,  with  this  passage, 
quoted  almost  directly  from  the  manuscript: 

Then  she  left  him  and  went  upstairs.  She  departed  in 
the  middle  of  the  night.  He  didn't  believe  that  she  would 
go.     But  she  did. 

The  common  fault,  and  the  fatal  fault,  in 
structure  is  the  weak  ending.  The  great  short 
story,  as  Poe  implied,  should  be  written  back- 
ward: the  climax  should  be  conceived  first 
and  the  whole  story  should  be  built  upon  that, 
should  lead  up  to  it  and  subserve  its  purpose. 
An  excellent  example  of  a  fine  story  injured, 
though  not  ruined,  by  a  weak  ending  that 
trails  off  ineffectively  is  The  Assault  of  Wings, 
by  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts.  ^  An  aviator  starts 
out   to   explore   a   "bottomless"   lake    on   the 

1  Smart  Set,  May,  1914. 

[103] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

top  of  a  mountain.  Some  eagles  oppose  his 
venture  and  make  things  very  interesting  for 
him.  The  battle  with  them  is  evidently  the 
climax;  and  Mr.  Roberts  describes  it  vividly. 
After  that,  the  reader  is  not  likely  to  care 
much  about  the  aviator's  original  purpose  to 
explore  the  lake.  A  well-constructed  short 
story  should  end  very  quickly  after  the  climax. 
But  the  author  has  added  this  long  passage  and 
thereby  injured  his  effect: 

MacCreedy  watched  them  [the  eagles]  go,  and  dropped 
his  weapon  back  into  the  kit.  Then  he  went  over  his 
precious  machine  minutely,  to  assure  himself  that  it  had 
sustained  no  damage  except  that  sUt  in  one  wing,  which 
was  not  enough  to  give  serious  trouble.  Then,  with  a 
rush  of  exultation,  he  ran  over  to  examine  the  mysterious 
pool.  He  found  it  beautiful  enough,  in  its  crystal-clear 
austerity;  but,  alas,  its  utter  clearness  was  all  that  was 
needed  to  shatter  its  chief  mystery.  It  was  deep,  indeed; 
but  it  was  certainly  not  bottomless,  for  he  could  discern 
its  bottom,  from  one  shore  or  the  other,  in  every  part. 
He  contented  himself,  however,  with  the  thought  that 
there  was  mystery  enough  for  the  most  exacting  in  the 
mere  existence  of  this  deep  and  brimming  tarn  on  the 
crest  of  a  granite  peak.  As  far  as  he  could  judge  from  his 
reading,  which  was  extensive,  this  smooth,  flat  granite 
top  of  Bald  Face,  with  its  little  pinnacle  at  one  end,  and 
its  deep,  transparent  tarn  in  the  center,  was  unlike  any 
other  known  summit  in  the  world.     He  was  contented 

[104] 


Structure 

with  his  explorations,  and  ready  now  to  return  and  tell 
about  them. 

But  if  content  with  his  explorations,  he  was  far  from 
content  on  the  score  of  his  adventure  with  the  eagles. 
He  felt  that  it  had  been  rather  more  of  a  close  call  than  it 
appeared;  and  there  was  nothing  he  desired  less  than  an 
immediate  repetition  of  it.  What  he  dreaded  was  that 
the  starting  of  the  motor  might  revive  the  fears  of  the 
great  birds  in  regard  to  their  nests,  and  bring  them  once 
more  swooping  upon  him.  He  traversed  the  circuit  of 
the  plateau,  peering  downward  anxiously,  and  at  last 
managed  roughly  to  locate  the  three  nests.  They  were 
all  on  the  south  and  southeast  faces  of  the  summit.  Well, 
he  decided  that  he  would  get  off  as  directly  and  swiftly 
as  possible,  and  by  way  of  the  northwest  front  —  and  by 
this  self-effacing  attitude  he  trusted  to  convince  the 
touchy  birds  that  he  had  no  wish  to  trespass  upon  their 
domesticity. 

He  allowed  himself  all  too  brief  a  run,  and  the  plane 
got  into  the  air  but  a  few  feet  before  reaching  the  brink. 
[Here  evidently  is  a  sort  of  secondary  climax  or  moment 
of  excitement.]  So  narrow  a  margin  was  it,  indeed,  that 
he  caught  his  breath  with  a  gasp  before  she  lifted.  It 
looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  dive  into  space.  But  he  rose 
instead  —  and  as  he  sailed  out  triumphantly  across  the 
abyss  the  eagles  came  flapping  up  over  the  rim  of  the 
plateau  behind.  They  saw  that  he  was  departing,  so 
they  sank  again  to  their  eyries,  and  congratulated  them- 
selves on  having  driven  him  away.  A  few  minutes  later, 
at  an  unprovocative  height  he  swept  around  and  headed 
for  home.  As  he  came  into  view  once  more  to  the  anxious 
watchers  in  the  automobile,  who  had  been  worried  over  his 

[105] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

long  disappearance,  the  car  turned  and  raced  back  over 

the  plain  to  X ,  ambitious  to  arrive  before  him  and 

herald  his  triumph.  The  fact  that  that  triumph  was 
not  altogether  an  unqualified  one  remained  a  secret  be- 
tween MacCreedy  and  the  eagles. 

There  is  no  big  dramatic  moment  very  near 
the  close,  nothing  for  the  story  to  rest  upon 
securely.  It  "just  ends";  it  does  not  really 
conclude.  But  Mr.  Roberts  is  not  often  guilty 
of  so  feeble  a  terminal  effect.  In  most  of  his 
work  he  is  a  good  deal  of  an  artist. 

Most  short  stories  that  come  into  the  busy 
editor's  office  can  be  judged  rapidly  and  yet 
justly  by  a  glance  at  the  introduction  and  the 
conclusion.  If  there  is  no  effective  climax, 
there  is  no  story  —  no  matter  how  much  "fine 
writing"  may  have  been  wasted  on  the  inter- 
vening pages.  Few  beginners  who  have  not 
made  a  study  of  structure  have  any  idea  how 
important  it  is  to  get  an  effective  and  to  some 
extent  original  closing  scene,  and  then  build 
the  tale  upon  it.  Even  after  conscious  study, 
if  a  writer  masters  short-story  structure  in  three 
years  he  may  consider  himself  fortunate.  His 
masterpieces,  if  he  produces  any,  are  likely  to  be 
the  result  of  a  process  similar  to  that  ascribed  to 
the  creative  force  of  Nature  by  Robert  Burns: 

[106] 


Structure 

"Her  prentice  han'  she  try'd  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O.'* 

If  he  can  finally  attain  a  beauty  of  structure 
resembling  the  beautiful  lines  of  that  sculptured 
Venus  in  the  Louvre  before  which  generation 
after  generation  has  bowed  to  worship,  he  may 
write  himself  down  an  artist.  Colors  without 
lines,  "purple  patches"  of  brilliant  writing 
without  structure,  will  never  make  anyone  a 
master  of  the  short  story. 

The  most  effective  close  is  that  which  has 
some  tinge  of  the  unexpected.  A  complete 
surprise,  such  as  Maupassant  achieves  in  The 
Necklace  and  Aldrich  in  Marjorie  Daw,  cannot 
always  be  hoped  for;  and  editors  do  not  expect 
it.  But  how  artistic  and  poignant  is  the  effect 
in  The  Necklace!  The  poor  wife  has  toiled  like 
a  common  drudge  through  ten  cheerless  years. 
And  for  what?  To  pay,  by  the  most  sordid 
economies,  for  a  silently  purchased  substitute 
for  a  borrowed  and  lost  necklace,  the  diamonds 
of  which,  as  she  finally  learns  from  the  friend 
who  had  lent  it,  were  paste !  It  all  comes  upon 
the  reader  like  a  flood;  and  there,  without  an 
added  word,  ends  the  story: 

"You  remember  that  diamond  necklace  that  you  lent 
me  to  wear  at  the  Ministry  ball?" 

[107] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

"Yes.     What  then?" 

"Well,  I  lost  it." 

"Lost  it.'*    Why,  you  brought  it  back  to  me!" 

"I  brought  you  another  just  Uke  it.  And  it  has  taken 
us  ten  years  to  pay  for  it.  It  was  not  easy  for  us,  you 
will  understand,  since  we  had  next  to  nothing.  At  last 
it  is  done,  and  I  can  tell  you,  I  am  glad!" 

Mme.  Forester  divined  the  secret. 

"You  say  you  bought  a  diamond  necklace  to  replace 
mine?  " 

"Yes.  You  didn't  notice  it,  did  you?  They  were  so 
like!" 

And  she  smiled  with  a  proud  and  naive  joy. 

Deeply  moved,  Mme.  Forester  took  both  her  hands. 

"Oh,  my  poor  Mathilde!  Why,  mine  was  false.  At 
most  it  was  worth  only  five  hundred  francs!" 

O.  Henry  is  famous  for  his  surprise  endings, 
often  humorous  ones.  As  Professor  Stuart  P. 
Sherman  has  well  phrased  it,^  "His  plots  are 
very  craftily  premeditated,  and  are  notable 
for  terminal  surprises,  which,  like  an  electric 
button,  suddenly  flash  an  unexpected  illumina- 
tion from  end  to  end  of  the  story.  His  surprises, 
furthermore,  are  not  generally  dependent  upon 
arbitrary  arrangements  of  external  circumstances 
but  upon  shifts  and  twists  in  the  feelings  and 
ideas  of  the  human  agents." 

A   remarkably   dramatic   surprise   is   flashed 

1  A  Book  of  Short  Stories,  p.  334. 

[108] 


Structure 

upon  the  reader  at  the  close  of  Conan  Doyle's 
very  brief  tale,  How  It  Happened,^  which  is 
told  by  a  "medium."  The  theme  is  a  motor- 
car smash: 

Going  at  fifty  miles  an  hour,  my  right  front  wheel 
struck  full  on  the  right-hand  pillar  of  my  own  gate.  I 
heard  the  crash.  I  was  conscious  of  flying  through  the 
air,  and  then  —  and  then  — ! 

When  I  became  aware  of  my  own  existence  once  more 
I  was  among  some  brushwood  in  the  shadow  of  the  oaks 
upon  the  lodge  side  of  the  drive.  A  man  was  standing 
beside  me.  I  imagined  at  first  that  it  was  Perkins,  but 
when  I  looked  again  I  saw  that  it  was  Stanley,  a  man 
whom  I  had  known  at  college  some  years  before,  and  for 
whom  I  had  a  really  genuine  affection.  .  .  . 

"No  pain,  of  course?"  said  he. 

"None,"  said  I. 

"There  never  is,"  said  he. 

And  then  suddenly  a  wave  of  amazement  passed  over 
me.  Stanley!  Stanley!  Why,  Stanley  had  surely  died 
of  enteric  at  Bloemfontein  in  the  Boer  War! 

"Stanley!"  I  cried,  and  the  words  seemed  to  choke  my 
throat  —  "Stanley,  you  are  dead." 

He  looked  at  me  with  the  same  old  gentle,  wistful 
smile. 

"  So  are  you,"  he  answered. 

The  Uncle  Abner  tales  of  Melville  Davisson 
Post,  which  have  been  printed  in  the  Saturday 

1  Strand,  October,  1913. 
[109] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Evening  Post,  the  Metropolitan,  and  the  Red 
Book,  and  later  collected  in  book  form,  are  also 
good  examples  of  the  unexpected  and  highly 
dramatic  ending  —  which  is  usually  demanded 
in  all  mystery  and  detective  stories.  Mr.  Post's 
studies  of  the  workings  of  conscience  and  of 
Uncle  Abner's  almost  uncanny  insight  into  these 
workings  are  sometimes  quite  worthy  of  Haw- 
thorne. The  Sherlock  Holmes  tales  are,  of 
course,  even  more  familiar  examples  of  suspense 
and  surprise,  particularly  that  remarkably  dra- 
matic and  horrifying  narrative.  The  Adventure 
of  the  Speckled  Band,  in  which  a  serpent  figures. 
As  a  "thriller,"  this  is  a  model. 

A  mastery  of  atmosphere  contributes  greatly 
to  the  success  of  Mr.  Post  and  of  Sir  Arthur 
Conan  Doyle.  Stevenson,  apropos  of  atmos- 
phere, said: 

There  are,  so  far  as  I  know,  three  ways,  and  three 
ways  only,  of  writing  a  story.  You  may  take  a  plot  and 
fit  characters  to  it,  or  you  may  take  a  character  and 
choose  incidents  and  situations  to  develop  it,  or  lastly  .  .  . 
you  may  take  a  certain  atmosphere  and  get  actions  and 
persons  to  realize  and  express  it.  I'll  give  you  an  ex- 
ample —  The  Merry  Men.  There  I  began  with  the  feel- 
ing of  one  of  those  islands  on  the  west  coast  of  Scotland, 
and  I  gradually  developed  the  story  to  express  the  sen- 
timent with  which  the  coast  affected  me. 

[110] 


Structure 

Poe  had  a  fairly  hypnotic  power  of  at- 
mosphere. Impressionable  young  persons  are 
warned  not  to  read  his  most  creepy  tales  just 
before  going  to  bed.  They  seem  fairly  to 
photograph  themselves  upon  the  brain.  Once 
in  his  atmosphere,  you  are  never  out  of  it  until 
the  end  of  the  story;  he  maintains  perfect 
unity  of  mood. 

From  the  viewpoint  of  structure,  the  opening 
of  a  story  is  worthy  of  considerable  attention. 
It  may  be  an  essay-like  opening,  as  in  some 
of  the  tales  of  0.  Henry  and  Kipling,  or  swift 
and  direct,  as  in  Poe's  The  Cash  of  Amontillado: 

The  thousand  injuries  of  Fortunato  I  had  borne  as  I 
best  could;  but  when  he  ventured  upon  insult,  I  vowed 
revenge.  You,  who  know  so  well  the  nature  of  my  soul, 
will  not  suppose,  however,  that  I  gave  utterance  to  a 
threat.  At  length  I  would  be  avenged;  this  was  a  point 
definitively  settled  —  but  the  very  definitiveness  with 
which  it  was  resolved  precluded  the  idea  of  risk.  I  must 
not  only  punish,  but  punish  with  impunity. 

This  perhaps  gains  vividness  from  being  told 
In  the  first  person;  but  no  general  rule  can 
be  given  as  to  the  comparative  advantages 
of  first  and  third  person  —  nor  as  to  the  letter 
method  and  various  others.  Some  authors  are 
fond  of  a  particular  method  and  work  most 

[111] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

easily  and  naturally  in  it;  but  the  beginner  had 
better  beware  of  clinging  to  one  exclusively. 
Experiment  will  determine  how  much  variety 
is   wise  —  or   possible. 

Here  is  the  first  paragraph  of  The  Man  Who 
Would  Be  King  —  reflective,  yet  coming  swiftly 
to  the  point: 

The  Law,  as  quoted  [in  a  prefatory  line,  "Brother  to 
a  Prince  and  fellow  to  a  beggar  if  he  be  found  worthy"], 
lays  down  a  fair  conduct  of  life,  and  one  not  easy  to  fol- 
low. I  have  been  fellow  to  a  beggar  again  and  again 
under  circumstances  which  prevented  either  of  us  find- 
ing out  whether  the  other  was  worthy.  I  have  still  to 
be  brother  to  a  Prince,  though  I  once  came  near  to 
kinship  with  what  might  have  been  a  veritable  King  and 
was  promised  the  reversion  of  a  Kingdom  —  army,  law- 
courts,  revenue  and  policy  all  complete.  But,  today,  I 
greatly  fear  that  my  King  is  dead,  and  if  I  want  a  crown 
I  must  go  hunt  for  it  myself. 

The  opening  of  Stevenson's  Will  o'  the  Mill^ 
a  character  story,  is  very  leisurely  and  descrip- 
tive, as  befits  its  subject.  That  of  0.  Henry's 
Phoebe^  is  in  dialogue  and  states  the  theme  in 
very  few  words: 

"You  are  a  man  of  many  novel  adventures  and  varied 
enterprises,"  I  said  to  Captain  Patricio  Malone.     "Do 
you  beUeve  that  the  possible  element  of  good  luck  or  bad 
*  In  Roads  of  Destiny. 

[112] 


Structure 

luck  —  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  luck  —  has  influenced 
your  career  or  persisted  for  or  against  you  to  such  an 
extent  that  you  were  forced  to  attribute  results  to  the 
operation  of  the  aforesaid  good  luck  or  bad  luck?  " 

The  following  beginning  is  unusually  abrupt 
but  effective  —  from  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy: 

"But  if  it  be  a  girl?" 

"Lord  of  my  life,  it  cannot  be.  I  have  prayed  for  so 
many  nights,  and  sent  gifts  to  Sheikh  Badi's  shrine  so 
often,  that  I  know  God  will  give  us  a  son  —  a  man-child 
that  shall  grow  into  a  man." 

Freeman  Tilden's  story,  Prison-Made,^  de- 
scribes the  activities  of  a  "prison  poet"  who 
got  into  a  penitentiary  in  order  to  gain  publicity. 
He  came  from  the  Greenwich  Village  colony 
in  New  York  City,  and  so  the  tale  opens  appro- 
priately with  a  humorous  characterization  of 
that  region.  Anyone  who  reads  the  entire  story 
will  see  that  the  introduction,  although  it  is 
almost  a  little  essay  in  itself,  is  not  superfluous. ^ 

The  Latin  Quarter  has  been  called  "the  Greenwich 
Village  of  Paris."  There  is  a  considerable  similarity 
between  the  two  neighborhoods.  In  both  is  to  be  found 
a  curious  intermingUng   of  petty   shopkeeping  and  the 

^  In  That  Night,  and  Other  Satires.    Hearst's  International  Library  Co. 
2  For  a  similar  introduction,  see  the  quotation  from  Fannie  Hurst's 
The  Spring  Song,  pp.  219-220. 

[113] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

arts.  They  are  both  incubators  of  genius  —  chuck  full 
of  eggs. 

American  tourists  should  see  Greenwich  Village  first. 
In  the  quantity  of  artistic  effort,  it  rises  superior  to  its 
French  rival.  Here  in  this  httle  corner  of  New  York, 
stowed  away  between  Sixth  Avenue  and  the  Hudson,  is 
the  center  of  the  magazine  industry  of  America.  It  has 
been  estimated: 

That  the  amount  of  8j  x  11  typewriter  paper  consmned 
in  Greenwich  Village  every  year,  if  piled  up,  would  mount 
to  the  astonishing  height  of  seven  and  one-third  miles. 

That  the  total  foot-pounds  of  energy  expended  in  hit- 
ting typewriter  keys  in  Greenwich  Village  in  a  year  would 
be  sufficient  to  Ught  New  York,  Paris,  Berlin,  and  London 
with  electricity. 

That  if  one  day's  manuscripts  were  withheld  from  the 
Greenwich  Village  post  office,  half  the  entire  postal  em- 
ployees of  New  York  would  be  thrown  into  idleness. 

It  has  been  said,  though  without  much  foundation, 
that  when  good  Americans  die  they  go  to  Paris.  It  can 
be  said,  with  far  greater  conviction,  that  when  American 
manuscripts  are  rejected,  they  go  back  to  Greenwich 
Village. 

As  an  example  of  an  introduction  which 
plunges  in  medias  res,  this  is  a  good  one,  from 
Donn  Byrne's  prize-fight  story,  A  Man^s  Game:  ^ 

They  might  have  kept  their  eight  thousand  dollars, 
Doran  thought  bitterly,  as  he  went  back  to  his  comer 

*  The  Popular  Magazine.  Reprinted  in  Stories  Without  Women. 
Hearst's  International  Library  Co. 

[114] 


Structure 

after  the  first  round;  they  might  have  kept  their  eight 
thousand  in  their  pockets.  If  he  hadn't  agreed  to  lie 
down  in  the  twelfth  round,  he  would  have  been  put  out 
in  the  eighth.  Good  heavens!  Couldn't  they  have  left 
him  at  home  in  peace,  and  not  have  brought  him  back 
to  shame  and  humiliation  tonight? 

The  amateur  can  almost  always  be  distin- 
guished from  the  professional  by  his  clumsi- 
ness in  opening  a  story.  His  introduction  will 
lack  distinction;  it  will  generally  be  either  too 
colorless  or  too  ambitious.  In  any  case,  it  will 
not  strike  a  sure  note.  Often  it  will  be  too  long 
and  will  not  be  an  integral  part  of  the  story. 
The  athlete  who  displays  "form"  in  the  hundred- 
yard  dash,  who  runs  so  gracefully  that  it  is  a 
delight  to  watch  him,  has  acquired  this  form 
by  long  practice  under  good  coaching.  The 
same  must  be  true  of  the  short-story  writer. 
Distinction,  in  any  art,  is  not  to  be  acquired 
overnight. 

One  successful  writer  of  magazine  stories 
tells  me  that  she  often  rewrites  a  tale  three  or 
four  times  —  not  merely  for  changes  in  phrase- 
ology, but  structural  changes  which  involve 
the  whole  skeleton  of  the  story.  She  sees  a 
new  twist  at  the  climax  which  improves  the 
surprise,  or  a  more  effective  way  of  starting  the 

[115] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

tale,  or  a  swifter  and  surer  method  of  develop- 
ing the  theme.  Since  this  author.  Miss  Dana 
Gatlin,  has  had  stories  in  the  Cosmopolitan, 
McClure's,  the  Century,  Collier's,  and  the  Amer- 
ican, it  is  evident  that  her  painstaking  pays. 
Robert  Burns  said  of  his  poems  that  they  were 
the  result  of  easy  composition  but  laborious 
revision.  Their  ease  and  naturalness  are  the 
product  of  careful  art,  not  of  a  rapid  and  careless 
pen.  "Easy  writing,"  as  the  English  orator. 
Fox,  remarked,  "makes  damned  hard  reading!" 
Although  in  any  good  short  story  there  must 
be  incident  —  action  —  there  must  not  be  too 
many  incidents.  A  common  mistake  of  amateurs 
is  to  crowd  into  one  story  enough  happenings 
to  serve  for  two  or  three.  I  recall  one  manu- 
script, good  in  many  respects,  which  contained 
at  least  four  important  incidents,  two  of  them 
easily  separable,  because  not  essential  to  the 
main  purpose  of  the  narrative.  They  were 
random  incidents,  illustrating  the  mischievous 
habits  of  schoolboys.  The  story  was  a  mere 
assembling  of  materials,  not  a  structure.  No 
unified  impression  could  be  produced.  Another 
writer,  who  has  had  stories  in  important  maga- 
zines like  the  Metropolitan  and  Collier's,  finds 
it  difficult  to  get  within  a  10,000-word  limit, 

[116] 


Structure 

largely  also  for  the  same  reason  —  that  he  has 
too  niany  incidents,  an  embarras  de  richesse. 
He  has  not  learned  how  to  remove  surplusage. 

A  successful  novelist  wrote  a  short  story  in 
which  two  important  incidents  of  about  equal 
value  divided  the  reader's  interest  near  the 
close  of  the  tale.  Either  would  have  made  an 
effective  climax.  And  they  did  not  depend  on 
each  other.  In  one  a  little  girl  did  something 
to  her  own  hair  to  produce  a  comic  effect;  in 
the  other  she  told  to  a  reporter  over  the  'phone 
a  frank  but  humorous  story  of  an  engagement. 
When  the  second  incident  was  removed,  imity 
of  effect  resulted  and  the  story  was  structurally 
successful.  The  trouble  with  many  eiBScient 
performers  who  do  not  know  the  rules  of  the 
game  is  that,  in  football  parlance,  they  don't 
stop  and  touch  the  ball  down  when  they  have 
crossed  the  goal  line,  but  like  Ole  Skjarsen 
in  one  of  George  Fitch's  most  diverting  stories, 
they  keep  right  on  running  wild  across  the 
country. 

There  may  legitimately  be  several  incidents 
in  a  short  story,  provided  they  are  related.  In 
Dr.  Jehyll  and  Mr.  Hyde,  which  despite  its 
length  is  essentially  a  short  story  in  purpose  and 
effect,  one  can  clearly  perceive  this  relation  of 

[117] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

incidents.  The  tale  depicts  what  any  good 
story  depicts  —  a  struggle  in  which  every  hap- 
pening has  an  influence  on  the  final  outcome. 
All  that  is  needed  to  make  a  good  plot,  as  Aris- 
totle pointed  out,  is  a  tying  of  the  knot  and 
an  untying  —  a  complication  and  a  denouement. 
In  a  drama  or  a  novel  there  is  room  for  elaborate 
complication,  as  illustrated  in  Othello,  the  best 
constructed  of  Shakespeare's  plays;  but  in  a 
short  story  simplicity  of  structure  must  prevail. 
In  Hawthorne's  The  Ambitious  Guest  there  is, 
if  we  except  the  arrival  of  the  stranger  at  the 
house,  only  one  incident.  Yet  this  is  one  of  the 
best  of  Hawthorne's  tales. 

The  lack  of  clearness  which  many  readers 
complain  of  in  Kipling  and  other  notable  story 
writers  is  not  due  to  faulty  structure.  It  is 
due  to  the  use  of  suggestion  rather  than  direct 
information;  and  suggestion  is  a  necessity  in 
the  short  story.  Without  it  there  can  be 
no  suspense.  Much  as  the  short  story  has  been 
decried  by  cloistered  critics  in  universities  and 
in  the  New  York  Nation  on  the  ground  that  it 
requires  no  exercise  of  mentality  from  the  reader, 
it  is  nevertheless  true  that  disputes  over  the 
meaning  of  a  good  short  story  are  frequent. 
Behind  the  best  tales  of  KipUng  and  Poe  and 

[118] 


Structure 

Hawthorne  there  is  good  hard  thinking.  Kip- 
Hng's  They  is  not  understood  in  its  entirety  by 
one  reader  in  ten.  Yet  it  is  almost  a  perfect 
story.  People  absorbed  in  material  things, 
especially  in  the  making  of  money,  are  likely 
to  find  such  masterpieces  difiicult.  Founded 
on  a  blind  and  childless  woman's  intense  love 
for  children,  this  story  They  proposes  the  as- 
tounding theory  of  her  ability  to  gather  around 
her,  on  her  wonderfully  beautiful  English  estate, 
the  visible  ghosts  of  dead  children.  A  motor- 
car plays  a  very  realistic  role  in  the  plot,  and  a 
father  who  had  lost  a  child  is  concerned  in  an 
especially  touching  incident.  For  such  a  story 
a  reader  with  unusual  imagination  and  sympathy 
is  required.  But,  once  understood,  no  story  of 
Kipling's  is  more  moving. 

Another  exaggerated  example  of  short-story 
obscurity  —  and  an  exaggerated  example  always 
makes  a  point  clearer  than  does  an  average  one 
—  is  Kipling's  The  Brushwood  Boy.  A  young 
English  soldier,  of  good  family,  falls  in  love  at 
first  sight  —  or  hearing,  rather  —  with  an  Eng- 
lish girl  who,  as  he  is  passing  through  the  gardens 
after  a  muddy  tramp  in  the  country,  is  singing 
within  the  house,  at  which  she  is  a  guest,  a 
beautiful  lyric.  Over  the  Edge  of  the  Purple  Down, 

[119] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

He  falls  in  love  with  her  for  the  reason  that  cer- 
tain obscure  geographical  references  in  her  song 
show  that  she  is  the  heroine  of  the  strange 
dreams  which  he  has  had  on  various  nights  for 
several  years.  Obviously,  then,  she  has  had 
similar  dreams  and  knows  him  in  this  dream- 
world, of  which  he,  with  an  admirable  touch 
of  nature  which  reveals  Kiphng's  insight  into 
humanity,  has  made  a  rough  map  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  way.  Curiously  enough,  it  turns 
out  that  they  have  both  named  the  places  alike. 
Hence,  having  long  been  lovers  in  these  pecuhar 
dreams,  which  in  all  important  respects  exactly 
correspond  to  each  other,  what  more  natural 
than  that  they  should  become  lovers  in  real 
Ufe? 

In  detective  tales,  suggestion  is  especially 
important.  Note  the  effect  of  the  following, 
for  example,  from  Poe's  The  Gold-Bug: 

He  received  the  paper  very  peevishly,  and  was  about 
to  crumple  it,  apparently  to  throw  it  in  the  fire,  when  a 
casual  glance  at  the  design  seemed  suddenly  to  rivet  his 
attention.  In  an  instant  his  face  grew  violently  red,  — 
in  another  as  excessively  pale.  For  some  minutes  he 
continued  to  scrutinize  the  drawing  minutely  where  he 
sat.  At  length  he  arose,  took  a  candle  from  the  table, 
and  proceeded  to  seat  himself  upon  a  sea-chest  in  the 
farthest  comer  of  the  room.     Here  again  he  made  an 

[120] 


Structure 

anxious  examination  of  the  paper,  turning  it  in  all  direc- 
tions. He  said  nothing,  however,  and  his  conduct  greatly 
astonished  me;  yet  I  thought  it  prudent  not  to  exacerbate 
the  growing  moodiness  of  his  temper  by  any  comment. 
Presently  he  took  from  his  coat-pocket  a  wallet,  placed 
the  paper  carefully  in  it,  and  deposited  both  in  a  writing- 
desk,  which  he  locked.  He  now  grew  more  composed  in 
his  demeanor;  but  his  original  air  of  enthusiasm  had 
quite  disappeared. 

The  Sherlock  Holmes  tales  are  full  of  such 
suggestions,  to  heighten  the  suspense^  The 
3escription  of  the  ventilator  in  the  room  where 
a  woman  had  been  mysteriously  murdered  ^  is 
an  instance  in  point;  and  another  is  the  curious 
advertisement  2  for  men  with  red  hair.  An 
excellent  example  of  a  tale  which  contains  a 
large  number  of  passages  of  suggestion  is  Henry- 
James'  remarkable  ghost  story.  The  Turn  of 
the  Screw.^  This  portrays  the  influence  of  the 
spirits  of  a  dead  manservant  and  a  governess 
upon  the  characters  of  a  young  boy  and  a  young 
girl  and  the  efforts  of  their  living  governess  to 
combat  this  influence.  In  their  lives,  the  two 
servants  had  been  disreputable  and  after  their 
deaths  they  tried  to  keep  up  their  evil  ascend- 
ancy   over    the   children.     Until   the    startling 

1  In  The  Speckled  Band.  2  i^  y/^^  Red-Headed  League. 

3  In  The  Two  Magics. 

[121] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

climax  the  reader  is  puzzled  to  make  out  just 
what  is  the  nature  and  extent  of  this  super- 
natural power.  The  result  is  a  story  of  rare 
suspense  and  impressionism.  It  affords  proof 
that  Mr.  James,  when  he  wished,  could  write 
a  tale  in  which  genuine  story-interest  is  strong. 
He  has  not  strayed  off  into  over-subtle  analysis 
of  character  and  motive;  there  is  progress  from 
the  first  page  to  the  last.  Even  persons  to  whom 
the  mention  of  Henry  James  is  a  red  rag  will 
do  well  to  peruse  this  httle  masterpiece,  which 
may  profitably  be  compared  with  Kiphng's 
They  and  Jacobs'  The  Monkey's  Paw, 

When  skilfully  employed,  suggestion  puzzles 
the  reader  without  irritating  him.  When  clum- 
sily used,  it  deliberately  throws  him  off  the  track 
and,  at  the  close  of  the  story,  is  seen  to  be  illogical 
and  absurd.  This  is  bad  structure  —  dishonest 
structure.  The  tales  of  Arthur  B.  Reeve  are 
not  free  from  this  defect;  but  Poe,  and  generally 
Conan  Doyle,  are  severely  logical.  To  follow 
their  mysteries  is  a  keen  technical  pleasure. 
Suggestion  without  revelation  is  essential  to 
that  suspense  which  all  good  narrative  pos- 
sesses. In  the  magazines  of  largest  circulation 
it  will  be  noted  that  suggestion  is  used  spar- 
ingly in  most  of  the  stories.     This  is  due  to  the 

[122] 


Structure 

average  subscriber's  dislike  of  anything  not 
clear.  He  may  forgive  it  on  account  of  the 
aid  to  suspense;  but  he  will  not  appreciate 
fully  a  frequent  use  of  it.  It  is  hard  for  this 
commonplace  person  to  realize  that  a  great 
short  story  is  not  a  bureau  of  information.  He 
ought  to  delight  in  using  his  mother  wit  to  dis- 
cern what  is  between  the  lines;  but,  of  course, 
if  he  lacks  the  wit  he  must  be  regaled  with  sim- 
pler and  clearer  narrative.  It  is  generally  un- 
safe to  assume  his  delight  in  subtle  suggestion, 
except  in  a  mystery  tale. 

The  first  reading  of  a  masterpiece,  even  a 
play  of  Shakespeare's,  has  a  fascination  which 
can  never  be  recaptured  —  the  fascination  of 
not  knowing  what  is  coming  next.  In  order 
to  enjoy  to  the  full  a  Shakespearean  play  on  the 
stage,  try  one  which  you  have  never  read. 
You  will  be  surprised  at  the  pleasure  derived, 
merely  from  unfamiliarity  with  the  plot.  This 
unfamiliarity  is  essential  to  any  good  short 
story.  And  it  is  skilful  structure  which  causes 
the  pleasure.! 

The  office  of  dialogue  in  structure  may  per- 
haps be  best  indicated  by  the  fact  that  a  very 

^  Anyone  who  wishes  to  delve  deeply  into  the  subject  of  structure, 
from  the  dramatic  standpoint,  will  find  material  in  Professor  George 
P.  Baker's  treatise.  The  Development  of  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatist. 

[123] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

large  proportion  of  the  average  modem  story  is 
told  by  means  of  dialogue.  Some,  indeed,  are 
so  nearly  dramatic  in  form  that  they  can  be 
transferred  to  the  stage  with  surprisingly  few 
changes.  Poe  got  along  with  only  a  small 
proportion  of  dialogue,  but  Poe  had  very  little 
dramatic  ability.  He  was  more  interested  in 
situations  and  climaxes  than  in  his  characters. 
KipKng  relies  mainly  on  the  talk  of  his  char- 
acters for  the  progress  and  development  of  his 
stories.  So  does  W.  W.  Jacobs.  The  opening 
of  his  tale,  Sam's  Ghost,  shows  his  usual  skill 
in  introducing  action  and  arousing  keen  interest 
in  character  :* 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  night  watchman,  thoughtfully, 
as  he  sat  with  a  cold  pipe  in  his  mouth  gazing  across  the 
river,  "I've  *eard  it  afore.  People  tell  me  they  don't 
believe  in  ghosts  and  make  a  laugh  of  'em,  and  all  I  say 
is:  let  them  take  on  a  night  watchman's  job.  Let  'em 
sit  'ere  all  alone  of  a  night  with  the  water  lapping  against 
the  posts  and  the  wind  moaning  in  the  corners;  especially 
if  a  pal  of  theirs  has  slipped  overboard  and  there's  little 
nasty  bills  stuck  up  just  outside  in  the  High  Street  offering 
a  reward  for  the  body.  Twice  men  'ave  fallen  over- 
board from  this  jetty,  and  I've  'ad  to  stand  my  watch 
here  the  same  night  and  not  a  farthing  more  for  it. 

"One  of  the  worst  and  awfulest  ghosts  I  ever  'ad  any- 
thing to  do  with  was  Sam  Briggs.     He  was  a  waterman  at 
^  Metropolitan,  June,  1916. 
[  124  ] 


Structure 

the  stairs  near  by  'ere;   the  sort  o'  man  that  'ud  get  you    )  / 
to  pay  for  drinks,  and  drink  yours  up  by  mistake  arter  he 
'ad  finished  his  own.     The  sort  of  man  that  'ud  always 
leave  his  baccy  box  at  'ome,  but  always  'ad  a  big  pipe  in 
'is  pocket. 

"He  fell  overboard  off  a  lighter  one  evening,  and  all 
that  his  mates  could  save  was  'is  cap.  It  was  only  two 
nights  afore  that  he  'ad  knocked  down  an  old  man  and 
bit  a  policeman's  little  finger  to  the  bone,  so  that  as  they 
pointed  out  to  the  widder,  p'raps  he  was  taken  for  a  wise 
purpose.  P'raps  he  was  'appier  where  he  was  than  doing 
six  months. 

"'He  was  the  sort  o'  chap  that'll  make  himself  'appy 
anywhere,^  ses  one  of  'em  comforting-like. 

"  'Not  without  me,'  ses  Mrs.  Briggs,  sobbing  and  wiping 
her  eyes  on  something  she  used  for  a  pocket  handkercher. 
'He  never  could  bear  to  be  away  from  me.  Was  there 
no  last  words?' 

'"Only  one,'  ses  one  o'  the  chaps,  Joe  Peel  by  name. 

"'As  'e  fell  overboard,'  ses  the  other." 

This  story,  toldjn^  the  Jfirst-  person  by  the  au- 
thor's familiar  character,  the  night  watchman, 
gives  the  effect  of  a  monologue  plus  dialogue. 
The  advantage  is  the  greater  naturalness 
obtainable  by  a  born  story-teller  through  this 
method.  It  also  brings  the  short  story  still 
closer  to  the  drama  than  ordinarily.  In  his 
humorous  tales  Mr.  Jacobs  uses  this  first-person 
method  very  frequently. 

[125] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

This  author  has  that  utmost  cunning  of  art 
which  produces  the  effect  of  nature.  A  casual 
reading  of  one  of  his  stories  is  not  Hkely  to  reveal 
the  surpassing  skill  in  almost  every  speech  and 
even  every  phrase.  His  characters  talk  with 
such  absolute  naturalness  and  his  story  pro- 
gresses so  rapidly  to  its  goal  —  generally  in 
about  three  thousand  words  —  that  the  young 
writer  may  be  deceived  into  thinking  that  all 
this  must  be  very  easy  if  one  has  a  natural  turn 
for  it.  The  fact  is,  of  course,  that  it  is  the 
result  of  much  study  and  much  painstaking. 
Charles  E.  Van  Loan's  praiseworthy  naturalness 
in  dialogue  is  also  very  deceptive.  The  story 
seems  to  be  talked  off  as  casually  and  readily 
as  in  real  life;  but  if  one  looks  carefully  at  the 
structure  one  sees  that  the  whole  is  artfully 
planned  and  skilfully  executed.  His  volume 
of  short  stories.  Buck  Parvin  and  the  Movies, 
is  well  worth  examining  with  care  for  the  means 
by  which  naturalness  and  effectiveness  in  dia- 
logue  are   secured. 

Artificial,  melodramatic  talk  is  not  always 
readily  recognized  by  the  average  reader,  if 
covered  up  by  sentiment  and  an  exciting  plot. 
Mr.  Julian  Street  has  performed  a  valuable 
service  by  satirizing  this  sort  of  dialogue  in  his 

[126] 


Structure 

burlesque  sex  story,  Living  up  to  Letchwood.^ 
The  insincerity  and  melodrama  of  much  third- 
rate  fiction  are  well  brought  out  in  the  following 
passage — which  certainly  does  not  lack  action: 

There  followed  one  of  those  idyllic  Letchwood  con- 
versations, in  which  they  pretended,  fancifully,  that  they 
were  the  only  man  and  woman  in  the  world.  Then 
something  seemed  to  snap  within  him.  He  tried  to 
control  himself,  and  to  that  end  dug  his  finger-nails  into 
his  palms.  He  told  himself  that  he  had  seen  her  only 
twice;  that  he  had  never  spoken  to  her  until  now;  that 
the  feelings  which  surged  through  him  were  nothing  short 
of  madness  —  sheer  madness!  And  yet  —  a  great  wave 
of  longing  swept  over  him. 

"Lorette!"  he  burst  out  passionately.  "I  love  you! 
We  are  meant  for  each  other!  You  know  it!  I  saw  it  in 
your  eyes  when  we  first  met!" 

"Don't!"  she  whispered,  going  white. 

"It  was  bound  to  come!"  he  cried,  his  deep,  well-bred 
voice  throbbing  with  suppressed  passion.  "It  is  Fate! 
You  love  me!     Tell  me  that  you  love  me!"  .  .  . 

"And  to  think,"  he  whispered,  "that  to  me  you  are 
only  Lorette!     That  I  do  not  even  know  your  name!" 

At  that  she  stiffened  suddenly  within  his  strong  em- 
brace. The  smile  vanished  from  her  lips;  a  look  of  an- 
guish came  into  her  eyes.  "My  name!"  she  sobbed. 
"I  had  forgotten  that  —  forgotten  all!  This  is  only  a 
dream!     Let  me  go!    Tell  me  it  is  only  a  dream ! " 

He  released  her.     Panting,  she  leaned  against  a  tree. 

1  Everybody  s,  July,  1914. 

[127] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

"What  is  it?"  he  cried  in  alarm.     "Speak,  Lorette!" 

"My  name!"  she  wept.  "That  brings  it  all  back! 
Can't  you  see?     Can't  you  guess?" 

"No!     For  God's  sake,  speak!" 

TrembUng  terribly,  she  drew  herself  together.  "My 
name,"  she  said  slowly,  "is  Lorette  Coventry!" 

"Ah,  no!"  cried  Desbarets,  an  icy  chill  running  through 
his  body.  "You  cannot  mean  that  you  are — "  He 
could  not  utter  the  rest. 

She  inclined  her  head. 

"Heaven  help  me!"  she  said.  "It  is  true.  I  am 
David  Coventry's  wife!" 

Before  her  eyes  he  seemed  to  wither,  like  a  man  sud- 
denly grown  old.  His  broad  shoulders  drooped.  He 
leaned  his  weight  against  a  tree-trunk.  Slowly  he  raised 
one  of  his  gloved  hands  and  removed  the  fashionable 
hat  from  his  bowed  head.  Then  in  choking  tones  he 
spoke  two  words: 

"Good-by!" 

"Good-by!"    Her  voice  was  like  a  dying  breath. 

This  bears  a  recognizable  resemblance  to  some 
of  the  recent  work  of  a  certain  sex-story  writer 
and  his  school.  This  author  has  been  described, 
in  the  austere  pages  of  the  New  York  Nation, 
as  the  servant  girl's  novelist. 

The  portrayal  of  character  through  dialogue 
is  admirably  illustrated  in  a  passage  from  a 
story  previously  alluded  to,  Henry  C.  Row- 
land's The  Copy-Cat:^ 

1  Saturday  Evening  Post,  May  18,  1907. 

[128] 


Structure 

"Oncet  I  was  well-to-do,  Jake,"  he  began  complain- 
ingly.  *'Me  and  a  feller  named  Hank  worked  a  claim 
that  would  ha'  made  our  fortun's  in  a  year.  I  did  most 
o'  the  work  an'  Hank  he  sorter  looked  after  things  an' 
saw  we  wa'n't  interfered  with.  If  ever  I  was  a  bit  down 
I'd  kinder  git  a  line  on  how  Hank  tuk  things  an'  that  'ud 
buck  me  up.  He  was  a  driver,  he  was"  —  Bill's  face 
lighted  —  "but  he  done  me  in  the  end!"     He  sighed. 

"Course  he  did!"  growled  Jake.  "He'd  ha'  bin  a 
plum'  fool  if  he  hadn't  ha'." 

"When  I  was  a  young  'un,"  Bill  pursued,  "they  useter 
call  me  the  Copy-Cat,  becuz  if  I  was  left  alone  I  alius 
seemed  to  kinder  peter  out.  But  jes'  so  long  as  they 
was  some  'un  I  cud  watch  and  copy  like  I  was  all  right." 

"You're  a  jelly-fish  —  that's  what  you  are!"  grunted 
Jake.  "Copy-Cat  —  Copy-Cat  —  and  a  good  name  for 
ye,  too!" 

"I  reckon  it  is,  Jake,"  sighed  Bill.  "The  funny  part 
of  it  was  that  when  I  was  a-copyin'  some  other  feller 
like  as  not  I'd  do  what  he  was  a-doin'  better'n  what  he 
cud.  I  cud  lick  any  feller  on  the  mountain  jes'  so  long  as 
he  kept  a-whalin'  me  and  kep'  his  mad  up,  but  without 
that  I'd  sorter  wilt  like." 

In  the  following  passage  from  Donn  Byrne's 
story,  Graft,^  there  is  a  combination  of  char- 
acterization with  a  prophecy  of  the  outcome: 

A  few  of  the  men  seemed  contemptuous  toward  him,  a 

few  seemed  furtive  in  their  nodded  greeting,  as  though  he 

were  a  person  not  to  be  known,  a  few  were  frankly  de- 

1  Saturday  Evening  Post,  April  22,  1916. 

[129] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

sirous  of  not  seeing  him.  A  pale,  hawk-faced  lawyer  with 
a  breezy  Western  cUent  by  his  side  nodded  in  response 
to  Trainor's  pleasant  smile. 

"Who  is  it?"  the  cHent  asked. 

"Oh,  that?"  the  lawyer  queried.  A  httle  yawn  of 
distaste  showed  on  his  face.  "That's  John  Trainor,  the 
purchasing  agent  for  the  Azure  Star  Line." 

"What's  wrong  with  him?"  the  Westerner  smiled. 
"You  made  a  face  Uke  a  kid  taking  medicine.  What's 
up?" 

"Well"  —  the  lawyer  spat  the  words  in  disgust —  "if 
you  want  to  know,  that's  the  damnedest  grafter,  liar  and 
thief  in  the  city.  He's  not  even  a  big  one.  He's  a  cheap 
piker,"  He  shook  his  head.  "And  the  queer  part  of  it 
is  that  ten  years  ago  he  used  to  be  one  of  the  decentest 
fellows  in  the  world." 

"Grows  on  you  hke  dope,"  the  client  nodded. 

"You've  got  it,"  the  lawyer  turned  to  him.  "You've 
laid  your  finger  on  it.  That  man  doesn't  know  how  deep 
in  it  he  is.  Some  of  these  days  he's  going  to  be  caught 
with  the  goods,  and  then  —  good  night!'* 

Past  action  is  briefly  and  deftly  indicated 
in  a  passage  from  Corra  Harris'  Epsie  of  Blue 
Sky  1  —  a  passage  which  also  exhibits  the  au- 
thor's philosophizing  on  life  and  her  Bibhcal 
vein  of  sentiment: 

"The  marigolds  and  zinnias  are  doing  well  this  season," 
said  Epsie,  coming  up  the  steps  and  seating  herself  beside 
me,  with  her  apron  filled  with  these  coarse  blossoms. 
1  Pictorial  Review,  April,  1916. 
[130] 


Structure 

"Epsie,"  I  whispered,  "it's  awful  to  die  without  being 
married  —  if  you  are  a  woman! " 

"Yes,"  she  answered  simply. 

"Did  you  ever  have  a  lover?"  I  asked. 

"No,  not  one  that  I  could  love,"  she  answered  softly. 

"But  there  was  a  lover.f^"  I  insisted. 

,"Yes,"  she  sighed,  so  low  that  I  scarcely  heard  the 
whispered  word. 

"Is  he  married  now?" 

"No." 

"Dead?" 

"No." 

Thus  we  sat  side  by  side,  two  women  bereaved  of 
love.  I  drew  her  hard  brown  hand  into  mine.  I  leaned 
forward  and  kissed  her  upon  the  cheek.  As  Cadmus  in- 
troduced letters  into  Greece,  so  did  I  introduce  kissing 
into  the  Meade  household.  I  doubt  if  Epsie  had  kissed 
or  been  kissed  for  many  a  year.  She  started,  stiffened,  as 
if  that  little  caress  reminded  her  of  something  hidden  and 
forbidden  in  her  innocent  breast. 

"Why  didn't  you  marry  him,  dear?"  I  asked  gently. 

"He  is  not  a  good  man,"  she  answered,  turning  her 
face  from  me. 

"But  must  a  woman  always  marry  a  good  man?" 

"If  you  marry  one  who  is  not  good,  you  approve  of 
him,"  she  answered  with  stern  simplicity. 

I  was  moved  by  this  logic.  It  reminded  me  of  that 
time  long  past,  before  my  confirmation,  when  every  act 
was  either  right  or  wrong,  when  there  was  no  middle 
ground  for  my  trembling  young  soul.  I  considered 
Carey.  I  saw  him  with  Epsie's  clear  eyes,  and  with  the 
innocent  eyes  of  that  girl  I  had  been.     He  seemed  to  shrink 

:  [131] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

into  a  poor  creature.  He  lost  his  brilliance,  his  insouci- 
ance. He  became  tinkling  brass  and  the  world's  sound- 
ing cymbals. 

The  directness  and  economy  of  this  dialogue 
are  worthy  of  close  study.  It  illustrates  the 
rule  that  there  should  be  no  talk  for  talk's  sake. 
Here  every  stroke  counts,  every  word  is  for  a 
purpose.  Good  dialogue  always  shows  this 
economy  and  artistry. 

In  the  following  passage  from  Mary  Synon's 
The  Bounty-Jumper,^  the  problem  of  the  story 
is  stated  in  dialogue: 

The  boy  turned  from  his  strained  watching  of  his  father's 
face  to  read  the  letter.  It  was  the  official  notification  of 
the  Senate's  confirmation  of  the  President's  appointment 
of  James  Thorold  as  ambassador  to  the  Court  of  St. 
Jerome. 

"Why,  father!"  IncreduHty  heightened  the  boyish- 
ness in  Peter's  tone. 

James  Thorold  wheeled  around  until  he  faced  him. 
"Peter,"  he  said  huskily,  "there's  something  you'll  have 
to  know  before  I  go  to  Forsland  —  if  ever  I  go  to  Fors- 
land.     You'll  have  to  decide." 

The  boy  shrank  from  the  ominous  cadence  of  the  words. 
"Why,  I  can't  judge  for  you,  dad,"  he  said  awkwardly. 

"Our  children  are  always  our  ultimate  judges,"  James 
Thorold  said. 

1  Scrihners,  February,  1915.  Reprinted  in  The  Best  Short  Stones  of 
1915.    Small,  Maynard  &  Co. 

[132] 


Structure 

This  noble  tale  of  American  patriotism  is 
worthy  of  careful  perusal  both  for  its  artistry 
and  its  basis  of  thought.  There  is  not  much 
outward  action  in  it,  but  a  good  deal  of  struggle 
in  those  ultimate  empires,  the  affections  and  the 
conscience. 

In  mastering  structure,  as  in  mastering  any- 
thing worth  while,  no  substitute  has  yet  been 
discovered  for  hard  work.  If  you  are  a  begin- 
ner and  are  not  afraid  of  work,  transcribe  a  few 
tales  which  by  virtually  all  critics  are  voted 
masterly  in  structure  and  in  phraseology.  You 
will  find  that  you  can  become  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  an  author's  methods  and  diction 
by  this  simple  process  —  which  forces  you  to 
look  closely  at  things  that,  in  mere  reading,  you 
pass  by  or  only  half  perceive.  Some  of  the  best 
models  for  this  purpose  are  Maupassant's  The 
Necklace,  Poe's  The  Cash  of  Amontillado,  Haw- 
thorne's The  Ambitious  Guest,  Stevenson's  The 
Sire  de  Maletroifs  Door,  KipKng's  The  Man 
Who  Was,  W.  W.  Jacobs'  The  Monkey's  Paw, 
and  Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle's  The  Adventure 
of  the  Speckled  Band,^ 

The  form,  the  structure  of  the  short  story  — 

^  For  the  volumes  in  which  these  stories  are  contained  see  the  Ap- 
pendix, pages  258-263. 

[133] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

even  of  some  of  the  masterpieces  just  mentioned 
—  may  seem  to  be  highly  artificial;  and  so,  in 
a  certain  sense,  it  is.  Some  of  the  most  beautiful 
verse-forms,  such  as  the  Itahan  sonnet,  the  trio- 
let, and  the  rondeau,  are  open  to  the  same 
criticism.  The  placing  of  the  climax  at  the 
very  end  of  the  story  may  be  artificial.  Things 
seldom  happen  so  in  real  hfe,  you  say.  Exist- 
ence is  not,  after  all,  a  succession  of  supreme 
moments;  it  is  not  spent  at  continual  high 
pressure.  Naturalness  seems  to  be  sacrificed 
to  power.  Characters  are  shown  for  only  an 
hour,  or  a  day,  or  in  brief,  hghtning-hke  glimpses 
for  a  few  months.  There  is  none  of  the  com- 
plexity of  genuine  hfe.  Problems  are  simplified 
beyond  the  mathematical  Umit.  There  is  too 
much  isolation,  segregration  for  literary  experi- 
ments. Well  —  all  these  accusations  have  some 
weight.  And  yet  the  total  effect  of  one  of 
Stevenson's  stories,  or  Hawthorne's,  or  Kip- 
ling's, is  not  an  eflfect  of  artificiality.  They 
have  achieved  nature  through  an  artificial  form. 
All  art,  of  course,  is  merely  representative,  is 
in  some  sense  artificial  —  "nature  to  advantage 
drest."  The  short  stoiy  form  is  indeed  highly 
artificial;  but  when  the  master  weaves  his 
tale  upon  this  form  the  result  is  something  very 

[134] 


Structure 

difiFerent,  sometliing  profoundly  moving,  as  in 
Kipling's  The  Man  Who  Was,  or  eminently 
inspiring,  as  in.  Hawthorne's  The  Artist  of  the 
Beautiful.  And  this  the  artificial  can  never 
accomplish.  The  hack  writer  for  the  minor 
magazines  may  never  rise  above  mere  artifice; 
but  the  gifted  and  conscientious  workman  will 
achieve  the  convincing  power  of  nature. 


EXERCISES 

1.  Test  a  long  story  (8,000  or  9,000  words)  in  the 
Saturday  Evening  Post  to  discover  whether  any  "com- 
ponent atom,"  in  Poe's  phrase,  can  be  removed  without 
injury  to  the  plot  or  to  the  total  effect.  If  you  find  any 
story  of  this  length  which  is  "padded,"  for  the  benefit  of 
the  advertising  columns  beside  which  the  last  part  (the 
"hanger")  of  the  tale  is  placed,  copy  the  unnecessary 
passage  or  passages  and  present  also  an  outline  of  the 
whole  plot  such  as  shall  show  why  the  said  passage  or 
passages  are  superfluous.  Apply  the  same  test  to  a  few 
stories  in  other  magazines  which  print  advertising  side 
by  side  with  reading  matter.  Do  you  agree  with  Mr. 
Ward  Muir  that,  in  general,  the  American  short  story 
"is  apt  to  spread  itself  and  not  suflSciently  study  economy 
of  words,  etc.,  in  getting  its  effect"  ? 

2.  Which  of  the  following  stories  strike  the  keynote 
sharply  (as  does  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher)  in  the 
opening  paragraph  .^^ — On  the  Stairs,  by  Arthur  Morrison 

[135] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

(in  The  World* s  Greatest  Short  Stories);  The  Man  Who 
Would  Be  King,  by  Kipling  (in  the  same  volume);  Rip 
van  Winkle,  by  Irving  (in  the  same  volume);  Phoebe,  by 
O.  Henry  (in  A  Book  of  Short  Stories);  Marse  Chan,  by 
Thomas  Nelson  Page  (in  Short  Stories  for  High  Schools) ; 
The  Triumph  of  Night,  by  Edith  Wharton  (in  the  same 
volume).  Do  those  which  do  not  strike  this  note  sharply 
seem  to  you  to  be  inferior? 

3.  Name  five  short  stories  in  which  the  central  char- 
acter shows  unusually  strong  will  power;  five  in  which 
there  is  a  conflict  between  two  characters  of  about  equal 
will  power. 

4.  Describe  briefly,  or  quote,  three  surprise  endings 
from  the  stories  of  O.  Henry;  three  from  a  current  mag- 
azine of  large  circulation.  In  what  respects,  if  any,  are 
O.  Henry's  superior?  Comment  on  the  endings  of  Kip- 
ling's Without  Benefit  of  Clergy,  On  Greenhow  Hill,  The 
Mark  of  the  Beast,  The  City  of  Dreadful  Night,  The  Man 
Who  Was.  All  of  these  will  be  found  in  his  greatest 
volume.  Life's  Handicap. 

5.  Describe  three  stories  which,  like  The  Fall  of 
the  House  of  Usher,  show  that  the  author  "may  take  a 
certain  atmosphere  and  get  actions  and  persons  to  ex- 
press it."  Is  this  kind  of  story  common  in  the  current 
magazines? 

6.  Mention  two  or  more  stories  which  obey  the  three 
unities  of  time,  place,  and  action.  What  is  the  effect  on 
you,  as  compared  with  the  average  story?  Does  this 
method  restrict  the  author  as  much  as  in  the  drama  — 
in  Ben  Jonson*s  The  Alchemist,  for  example? 

[136] 


Structure 

7.  Give  an  example  of  a  story-opening  which  plunges 
in  medias  res  —  which  does  not  begin  at  the  beginning, 
so  to  speak,  but  takes  a  good  deal  for  granted.  Does 
the  author  explain  the  preliminary  events  afterward? 
If  so,  where? 

8.  From  the  standpoint  of  structure  compare  Dickens' 
A  Christmas  Carol  (in  its  condensed  form,  12,000  words 
—  it  was  originally  50,000)  with  Poe's  The  Masque  of  the 
Red  Death  by  making  a  structural  outline  of  each.  Do 
you  find  too  many  incidents  in  Dickens'  tale?  Com- 
ment on  the  unity  in  each  story. 

9.  Make  a  structural  outline  of  Stevenson's  The  Sire 
de  Maletroifs  Door  and  of  Kipling's  The  Man  Who  Was. 
(Both  of  these  are  in  A  Book  of  Short  Stories.)  In  what 
respects  do  they  show  especial  skill  in  structure?  Can 
you  name  one  of  O.  Henry's  which  reveals  equal  skill? 
One  of  Maupassant's? 

10.  Point  out  several  instances  of  "suggestion,"  or 
foreshadowing  of  the  outcome,  in  a  mystery  tale  —  Henry 
James'  The  Turn  of  the  Screw,  for  example  (in  The  Two 
Magics).  Do  they  enable  you  to  guess  the  ending? 
Apply  the  same  test  to  any  of  the  Sherlock  Holmes  tales; 
to  Poe's  The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue  and  The  Purloined 
Letter. 

11.  Quote  two  passages  of  dialogue  closely  connected 
with  the  structure  of  a  story.  Do  they  advance  the 
action  rapidly?  Explain  past  action?  Lead  up  to  the 
climax-close?  Or  in  what  other  respects  do  they  show 
structural  skill? 

[137] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

12.  O.  Henry  used  to  read  all  the  New  York  Sunday 
papers  in  order  to  get  material  for  stories.  Try  this 
yourself,  and  give  at  least  one  example  of  an  item  which 
would  make  a  good  climax  upon  which  to  build  a  short 
story. 

13.  Give  at  least  one  example,  from  a  current  maga- 
zine, of  a  story  which  shows  bad  or  mediocre  structure 
redeemed  by  excellent  character  study  or  by  some  other 
important  element  which  seems  to  have  induced  the 
editor  to  accept  it  in  spite  of  the  defects  of  structure. 

14.  Stories  with  weak  endings  do  not  often  gain  en- 
trance to  modern  magazines;  but  see  whether  you  can 
find  one  such  —  one  in  which  the  close  seems  inferior  to 
the  rest  of  the  tale.  What  probably  induced  the  editor 
to  accept  it? 

15.  Passages  of  description  are  generally  brief  in  a 
modem  short  story;  but  there  are  plenty  of  unneces- 
sarily long  passages  in  the  novels  of  Scott  and  Dickens. 
Find  one  or  two  and  show  why  they  are  largely  or 
wholly  superfluous.  Can  you  find  any  long  passage  in  Kip- 
ling or  Stevenson  which  could  be  condensed  without  loss? 

16.  Find,  among  short  stories  written  before  Poe's 
(i.e.,  before  1830),  three  or  more  which  do  not  obey  the 
rule  of  the  climax  ending.  Do  they  seem  to  lose  anything 
in  structural  effect  —  or  in  general  effect  on  the  reader 
—  by  their  neglect  of  modern  technique? 

17.  Do  you  prefer  Stevenson  as  a  noveUst  or  as  a  short- 
story  writer?  Why?  Apply  the  same  test  to  Hawthorne 
and  Kipling.  Can  you  give  any  definite  reasons  why 
their  technique  is  superior,  in  either  Hterary  form? 

[138] 


Structure 

18.  Compare  Maupassant's  methods  of  structure,  in 
half  a  dozen  of  his  stories,  with  Kiphng's;  with  O. 
Henry's;  with  W.  W.  Jacobs';  with  Mary  Wilkins- 
Freeman's.  Note  the  length  which  each  author  seems 
to  prefer.  Point  out  any  of  their  stories  —  if  you  can 
find  any  such  —  in  which  the  framework  or  structure 
strikes  you  as  being  too  artificial,  in  which  it  "shows 
through,"  so  to  speak.  (Generally,  in  the  case  of  these 
authors,  something  comparable  to  an  X-ray  analysis  on 
the  part  of  the  student  is  necessary  to  detect  the  struc- 
tural skill;   but  the  result  is  always  worth  the  trouble.) 

19.  Analyze  three  stories  (by  great  writers  like  Kip- 
ling) which  are  not  entirely  clear  to  you  at  a  first  reading, 
in  order  to  find  out  why  they  are  diflBcult.  Could  they 
be  made  clearer  without  injury  to  the  total  effect?  In 
other  words,  is  the  obscurity  a  necessity  or  a  fault? 


[139] 


CHAPTER  IV 

CHARACTER  vs.  PLOT 

It  is  not  enough  that  Aristotle  has  said  so,  for  Aris- 
totle drew  his  models  of  tragedy  from  Sophocles  and 
Euripides;  and,  if  he  had  seen  ours,  might  have  changed 
his  mind.  —  John  Dryden. 

The  charm  of  all  art  will  probably  be  found  to  be 
at  bottom  just  this  —  it  quickens  and  intensifies  the 
sense  of  life.  Art  is  the  spontaneous  yet  ordered 
overflow  of  life.  It  knows  no  such  thing  as  age.  That 
is  what  makes  it  so  precious  to  us  men  and  women. 
For  the  one  inevitable  misfortune  of  life  is  to  grow  old; 
to  feel  the  spring  of  our  life  less  elastic,  our  perceptions 
less  new  and  vivid,  our  joys  less  fresh,  our  anticipations 
less  eager  and  confident.  No  added  philosophy  of 
life's  afternoon  can  ever  quite  atone  for  the  faded 
poetry  of  its  morning.  But  it  is  the  office  of  art  to 
renew  this  early  freshness  of  feeling  in  us.  —  C.  T. 
Winchester,  Some  Principles  of  Literary  Criticism} 

In  a  highly  interesting  and  provocative  article. 
The  Blight,^  Melville  Davisson  Post  takes  to 
task  the  "high-brows"  of  the  thirty-five-cent 
magazines  and  of  certain  examples  of  classic 
literature,  for  failure  to  provide  exciting  plots, 
for  neglect  of  problem  ftnd  mystery.     He  de- 

»  The  MacmiUan  Co.  «  Saturday  Evening  Post,  Dec.  26,  1914. 

[140] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

clares  that,  in  a  good  short  story,  plot  comes 
first  and  character  second: 

It  is  a  matter  of  profound  regret  that  men  of  talent 
and  culture  in  this  country  have  got  the  idea,  in  order  to 
distinguish  themselves  from  the  common  run  of  writers, 
they  must  avoid  the  very  elements  essential  to  the  highest 
form  of  literature.  Because  surprise  in  the  plot  and 
virile  incident  have  the  widest  appeal,  and  are  therefore 
usually  undertaken  by  the  unskilful,  these  men  have  de- 
termined to  avoid  them  altogether. 

Alas!  In  doing  so  they  abandon  the  highest  forms  of 
literature.  .  .  . 

The  basic  element  in  the  taste  of  the  public  is  correct. 
The  demand  of  the  human  mind  for  mystery  or  problem 
—  something  to  unravel  —  is  universal.  It  is  the  desire 
of  everybody  to  know  how  persons  will  act  in  tragic  situ- 
ations; how  men  of  individuality  and  power  in  high  places 
will  conduct  themselves  under  certain  conditions  of  stress. 
We  shall  never  cease  to  be  interested  in  these  things, 
and  the  author  who  presents  them  to  us  will  have  our 
attention. 

It  has  therefore  happened  in  this  country  that  the  men 
who  have  had  the  foresight  and  courage  to  give  the  read- 
ing public  these  universal  elements  of  interest  in  their 
fiction  haye  built  up  great  and  prosperous  pubhcations, 
while  those  who  have  denied  the  public  these  elements  of 
interest  have  fallen  into  bankruptcy. 

Resolute  editors,  refusing  to  be  influenced  by  the 
pretensions  of  the  smaller  dilettante  class,  have  been  able 
to  run  the  circulation  of  their  periodicals  into  incredible 
figures. 

[141] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

This  is  specious  reasoning;  but,  as  in  the  case 
of  Wordsworth's  radical  prefaces  versus  his  best 
poems,  Mr.  Post's  best  stories  do  not  illustrate 
his  own  theories.  Without  the  remarkably  im- 
pressive character  of  Uncle  Abner,  this  author's 
excellent  short  stories  of  mystery  and  crime 
would  fall  apart  Uke  a  house  of  cards.  And, 
without  the  character  of  Sherlock  Holmes  — 
which  is  a  real  contribution  to  literature  — 
Conan  Doyle's  detective  tales  would  suffer  the 
same  fate.  WTiat  we  are  principally  interested 
in,  after  all,  is  not  the  "virile  incidents"  but  the 
w^ay  in  which  ''versons  will  act  in  tragic  situa- 
tions'' —  or  comic^  15*  Shakespeare,  of  course, 
we  find  the  supreme  example  of  this.  The  dis- 
position to  worship  all  elements  in  his  plays  is 
passing;  but  his  characters  need  fear  no  test. 
Professor  Brander  Matthews  ^  says  that  the 
central  incidents  of  The  Merchant  of  Venice 
are  unconvincing,  but  that  Shylock  is  an  unfor- 
gettable figure. 

From  an  animated  chorus  of  replies  to  Mr. 
Post's  article  —  a  chorus  made  possible  by  a 
symposium  in  the  New  York  Sun^  — I  select 

»  A  Study  of  the  Drama,  p.  153. 

*  Does  Character  Dramng  or  Plot  Count  More  in  Fiction?  April  17, 
1915. 

[142] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

first  an  admirable  remark  by  that  good  crafts- 
man, Booth  Tarkington:  "It  seems  strange 
that  he  [Mr.  Post]  does  not  perceive  the  pro- 
founder  interest  of  the  mystery  and  surprise  of 
character."  Ah!  there  is  the  nub  of  the  matter, 
stated  with  a  fehcity  which  we  have  learned  to 
expect  from  Mr.  Tarkington.  The  "mystery 
and  surprise  of  character"  is  in  truth  the  great 
spectacle  of  this  human  life  of  ours.  Even  the 
good  business  man  will  testify  to  that.  In  a 
given  set  of  circumstances,  how  will  a  certain 
individual  (and  no  other)  act?  That  is  what 
interests  masters  of  the  short  story  hke  Rud- 
yard  Kipling  and  Guy  de  Maupassant,  masters 
of  the  novel  like  Thackeray,  and  masters  of  the 
drama  like  Shakespeare.  That  is  what  gives 
us  Stevenson's  Markheim  and  Hawthorne's  The 
Birthmark  and  Kipling's  William  the  Conqueror 
and  the  excellent  tales  in  Mr.  Tarkington's 
own  volumes,  Penrod  and  Seventeen,  It  is  what 
gives  us  Peter  B.  Kyne's  The  Three  Godfathers, 
in  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  (reprinted  in 
book  form);  and  it  is  what  gave  vogue  to  the 
Letters  of  a  Self-Made  Merchant  to  His  Son,  by 
the  editor  of  the  Post  "  Mystery  and  surprise," 
quotha!  Why,  you  don't  have  to  look  farther 
than  your  next-door  neighbor  for  that. 

[143] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Probably  most  editors,  if  asked  whether  they 
insist  upon  strong  character  portrayal,  would 
answer  that  they  desire  it  and  that  they  secure 
it  as  often  as  possible.  The  editor  of  Adventure, 
which  might  be  expected  to  lay  especial  stress 
on  plot  and  rapid  action,  states  that  what  he  is 
after  is  ''clean  stories  of  action  vnth  characters 
who  are  people,  not  mere  names,''  And  a  fiction 
editor  who  has  been  in  the  business  a  good  many 
years,  in  returning  a  very  promising  story  to  a 
young  author,  said:  "We  hke  this  in  many 
respects,  but  we  shall  have  to  ask  for  a  httle 
more  emphasis  on  character." 

An  interesting  plot  is  one  essential;  but  if 
it  were  the  only  thing,  or  the  primary  thing, 
could  we  reread  for  the  tenth  or  the  twentieth 
time  the  masterpieces  of  hterature  which  all 
generations  have  voted  great  .^  Could  a  teacher 
of  Shakespeare  take  up  Hamlet  with  college 
classes  for  forty  years,  and  bring  to  the  final 
year  the  same  enthusiasm  as  to  the  first  .^  There 
seems  to  be,  among  fiction  WTiters  themselves, 
a  pretty  general  agreement  that  Joseph  Conrad 
is  the  greatest  hving  master  of  fiction.  Yet  he 
is  one  of  the  most  unworried  as  to  the  necessity 
for  entertaining  and  carefully  woven  plots. 
His  magnificent  short  story.  Youth,  can  hardly 

[144] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

be  said  to  have  a  plot  at  all;  but  as  an  impres- 
sion of  the  energy  and  romantic  yearnings  of  a 
young  man  —  of  what  Hazlitt  called  "the  feel- 
ing of  immortality  in  youth"  —  it  is  matchless. 
Here,  however,  the  character  is  not  so  indi- 
vidualized as  usual;  it  is  typical,  for  a  purpose. 
And,  in  general,  Conrad  owes  his  eminence 
quite  as  much  to  his  wonderful  atmosphere  and 
his  English  style  as  to  character  portrayal. 
His  Heart  of  Darkness  is  a  dramatization  of 
Nature,  of  the  fascination  and  perils  of  tropical 
forests  —  although  the  degeneration  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  white  man  who  has  spent  years  in 
these  surroundings  is,  after  all,  probably  the 
chief  point  of  interest  in  the  story.  It  may 
be  admitted,  however,  that  Joseph  Conrad  has 
not  invaded  the  highly  popular  periodicals  to 
any  extent,  in  spite  of  the  admiration  which 
Gouverneur  Morris,  Harry  Leon  Wilson,  and 
other  successful  invaders  feel  for  his  work. 

W.  W.  Jacobs,  on  the  other  hand,  is  popular. 
Yet  he  has  seldom  shown  himself  master  of  more 
than  four  plots,  says  Mr.  Wilson, ^  and  for  some 
years  has  used  not  more  than  two.  *'But  a 
lot  of  us  would  still  tramp  a  long  trail  for  a 
new  Jacobs  story."     It  is  the  springs  of  men's 

*  In  the  Sun  symposium. 
[145] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

actions,  treated  from  the  humorous  standpoint, 
that  interest  us  in  Mr.  Jacobs'  tales.  There  is 
an  excellent  balance,  however,  between  plot 
and  character;  for,  although  his  plots  may- 
lack  variety,  they  show  a  deft  construction  and 
an  economy  of  means  that  are  of  the  school  of 
Maupassant.  One  of  Maupassant's  own  stories, 
A  Coward,  may  be  cited  as  an  illustration 
of  a  tale  that  is,  so  to  speak,  all  character  —  the 
portrayal  of  the  changes  of  mood  in  a  man  who 
is  to  fight  a  duel  and  is  afraid  that  he  may  be 
afraid!  This  is  a  masterpiece  of  psychology 
in  which  the  rapid  shifts  of  mood  take  the 
place  of  outward  action.  But  there  is  a  strik- 
ing dramatic  chmax.  It  is  not  the  heavy- 
footed  Henry  James  psychology.  Character 
in  action  is  the  ideal  of  narrative.  In  the 
best  fiction,  short  or  long,  it  is  the  characters 
that  make  things  happen.  They  do  not  wait 
for  things  to  happen  to  them.  Let  me  quote 
again  that  comment  of  a  good  critic,  Professor 
Stuart  P.  Sherman,  on  O.  Henry's  surprise 
cUmaxes:  "His  surprises  are  not  generally 
dependent  upon  arbitrarj^  arrangements  of  ex- 
ternal circumstances,  but  upon  plausible  shifts 
and  twists  in  the  feehngs  and  ideas  of  the  human 
agents."     All  young  writers  please  copy! 

[148] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

An  interesting  psychological  comparison  may 
be  made  between  Maupassant's  A  Coward  and 
Defoe's  Robinson  Crusoe.  Defoe  was,  as  Leslie 
Stephen  has  said,  primarily  and  essentially  a 
journalist.  "It  never  seemed  to  occur  to  him 
to  analyze  character  or  work  up  sentiment." 
He  portrayed  merely  what  he  saw,  not  what  he 
felt  about  what  he  saw.  He  does  not  even 
make  Friday's  death  pathetic.  And  Crusoe 
displays,  in  the  face  of  his  isolation  and  hard- 
ships, no  mental  torments  whatever — only  a 
"preternatural  stolidity."  There  is  certainly 
a  fault  in  character-drawing  here  —  though 
Crusoe,  we  must  remember,  was  a  typical  Eng- 
lishman of  the  early  eighteenth  century,  who 
distrusted  "enthusiasm"  of  any  sort  and  was  as 
hard-headed  and  devoted  to  reason  as  any  mortal 
can  be.  If  you  don't  believe  this,  read  Swift's 
account  of  his  ideal  race,  the  Houyhnhnms, 
in  the  fourth  part  of  Gulliver's  Travels, 

On  the  whole,  magazine  stories  reveal  much 
more  deftness  in  plot  than  in  character.  The 
"persons  of  the  story"  are  often  very  conven- 
tional. A  good  character  tale  always  stands 
out  by  contrast  with  them.  Note,  for  example. 
The  Friends y  by  Stacy  Aumonier.i     Says  Harry 

1  Century,  October,  1915. 
[147] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Leon  Wilson:  "I  take  a  dozen  monthly  maga- 
zines. ...  I  count  it  a  lucky  month  when  I 
find  four  readable  short  stories  in  the  twelve  — 
say  four  stories  out  of  seventy-two!  Plots 
evenly  good,  but  oh!  the  dreadful  aridity  of 
their  disclosures  —  their  appalling  dead  con- 
ventionalness  of  character."  If  Aristotle  said, 
adds  Mr.  Wilson,  that  the  plot  is  the  first  prin- 
ciple and  that  character  holds  a  second  place, 
why,  ''that  will  be  about  all  for  Aristotle." 
And  some  of  us  are  likely  to  indorse  both  the 
sentiment  and  the  slang. 

Note,  for  example,  the  cheap,  melodramatic 
effect  in  the  following  passage.  The  attempt 
at  characterization  is  wholly  unconvincing.  And 
in  this  case  the  plot  also  is  stale. 

At  the  doctor's  side  was  seated  a  woman  about  thirty 
years  of  age.  She  was  still  very  beautiful.  Her  wide 
blue  eyes  were  turned  with  an  intelligent  interest  to  her 
companion,  who  was  speaking. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Waverly,"  he  said,  "many  of  the  patients 
are  quite  sane  on  most  subjects.  In  fact,  one  of  my  best 
patients  is  at  this  very  moment  playing  bridge  in  there 
with  your  husband,  my  wife  and  Miss  Siebert."  His 
companion  leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  surprise  evinced 
in  her  features.  "There,  there,"  continued  the  doctor, 
smiling,  "do  not  be  alarmed.  He  is  a  perfect  gentleman, 
one  of  the  finest  I  have  ever  met.    He  has  only  one  be- 

[148] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

setting  sin  which  society  will  not  forgive  —  insanity. 
One  of  my  guests  did  not  turn  up,  so  I  invited  my  patient." 

A  few  moments  later  the  physician  was  called  away, 
and  Mrs.  Waverly  remained  alone.  The  fire  was  very 
low  now.  Its  cheeriness  seemed  to  have  vanished.  The 
voices  from  the  other  room  sounded  indistinct  and  far 
away.  Suddenly  the  plush  curtains  over  the  doorway 
parted  and  a  tall,  not  unhandsome  man  quietly  entered. 
He  advanced  toward  Mrs.  Waverly  and,  bowing  politely, 
seated  himself  in  the  vacant  chair. 

"Pardon  me"  —  his  voice  was  very  pleasant  —  "the 
doctor  sent  me  in  to  talk  to  you  for  a  moment  or  so. 
He  was  called  to  the  telephone.     He  will  not  be  long." 

As  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  face,  suggestively  sil- 
houetted by  the  firelight,  he  started  and  paled.  Then  he 
laughed  quietly  and  smiled  like  a  weary  child.  "Strange! 
At  first  I  thought  you  w^ere  some  one  else  —  some  one  I 
knew  a  long,  long  time  ago.  But  that,  of  course,  is  very 
foolish  of  me.     She  died  years  and  years  ago." 

He  had  turned  to  the  fire  and  could  not  see  the  look  of 
terror  in  the  blue  eyes  of  the  woman  beside  him.  His 
eyes  seemed  to  search  the  center  of  the  flames  for  some 
secret  of  the  past.  "Yes.  At  first  I  thought  you  were 
some  one  else,  some  one  I  used  to  know,  out  there  in  the 
world;  a  girl  named  Vera.  We  were  in  love.  Vera  and 
I  —  but  she  died.  All  that  was  long  ago."  Suddenly 
he  started.  "You  will  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Waverly.^  I 
suddenly  remember  that  I  counted  up  the  score  in  the  last 
rubber  incorrectly.     Good  evening."     He  bowed  politely. 

This  has  all  the  earmarks  of  the  old-style 
melodrama,  and  to  even  a  moderately  sophisti- 

C  149  ] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

cated  reader  it  is  full  of  unconscious  humor. 
Of  course  the  heroine  drops  a  handkerchief  em- 
broidered with  a  V  —  for  Vera  —  and  the  doctor 
picks  it  up  after  she  has  left! 

An  even  worse  example  of  amateurishness 
was  recently  printed  (with  an  editorial  note) 
as  a  jest  by  the  Sviart  Set.^  The  author  con- 
fided that  he  had  been  writing  stories  for  eight 
years;  so  the  editor  thought  he  ought  to  have 
a  chance !  The  reader  may  judge  how  many 
more  years  would  be  necessary  to  make  this 
author  successful.  I  quote  from  the  beginning 
and  the  end: 

Ed  Miller  and  his  wife  were  sitting  together  in  their 
private  lounging-room  on  this  special  evening,  when  Ed 
spoke  to  his  wife  suddenly,  and  said: 

"  Cora,  I  think  we  should  have  some  children,  now  that 
we  have  been  married  seven  years  —  and  seven  years  of 
honeymoon  represents  a  barren  moon.'* 

"Possibly  so,"  agreed  Cora  with  carelessness.  "But 
I*m  not  inclined  to  favor  children,  Eddy,  in  just  that 
manner.  Life  is  too  short,  and  time  too  precious  to  be 
wasting  my  poor  blood  in  reproduction.'* 

Now,  Ed  was  breaking  down  with  overwork,  and  was 
not  prepared  to  shake  off  his  wife*s  flippancy. 

"Cora,"  said  he,  "this  will  never  do!    Are  you  going 
to  die  a  barren  woman,  never  to  be  remembered  by 
posterity,  and  forgotten  in  your  tomb?" 
1  February,  1915. 
[150] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

"Ah,  now,  Eddy!"  pouted  Cora.  "You  are  too  solemn 
this  evening,  and  I  cannot  agree  to  Usten  with  patience. 
It  would  seem  that  I  have  sufficient  grievance  with  life 
to  resent  anything  that  pertains  to  having  children. 
The  picture  of  that  little  grave  hanging  on  the  wall  is 
quite  enough  to  arouse  my  bitterness." 

Eddy  disappears  on  that  ''cold  and  stormy 
night"  and  is  not  heard  from  for  a  long  time, 
although  Cora  offers  a  reward  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars  for  information!  Finally  a  letter  arrives. 
It  contains  only  four  words:  "Come  see  Black 
Mantle."  She  goes,  is  met  by  two  Indians 
and  taken  a  hundred  miles  by  river  to  meet 
the  chief.  In  a  little  green  valley  she  finds  him 
and  his  wife.  Queen  Mantle,  ''a  born  lady  of 
the  wilderness,"  who  has  seven  children.  Also 
Eddy  turns  up: 

"Poor  Cora!"  came  a  heavy  voice.  "So  you  have 
come  at  last.     Good  little  girl!" 

"Oh,  Eddy!  My  own,  my  own!  I'm  afraid  to  open 
my  eyes  lest  I  see  your  poor  ghost  a- vanishing." 

"Open  your  eyes,  Cora.  It  is  I  —  what  there  is  left 
of  me." 

So  Cora  opened  her  eyes  slowly,  fearing  lest  she  should 
awake  in  Hades,  with  this  last,  least  hope  coming  to 
haunt  her  nights  of  sorrow.  But  she  was  in  her  Eddy's 
arms,  drawn  up  close  to  his  living  heart,  and  they  gazed 
upon  one  another  speechless,  until  the  stars  came  out  to 
twinkle  in  the  heavens.    And  they  were  left  alone,  for 

[151] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

'Blsuck  Mantle  and  his  wife  had  slipped  away,  and  were 
gone  all  night. 

"Well,"  said  Ed,  "my  life  has  been  made  complete 
once  more,  except  that  I  do  not  know  how  I  got  here.  I 
recall  a  night  when  it  was  raining,  and  I  was  talking  to 
you,  when  a  mist  rose  up  around  me.  In  that  mist  I 
could  see  the  Colorado  River,  and  it  seemed  that  I  was 
already  there  —  though  I  must  have  traveled  a  great 
distance  to  get  there,  for  Black  Mantle  found  me  a  month 
ago,  and  he  said  that  I  was  asking  for  him,  but  I  did  not 
know  him  in  person." 

This  is  a  little  more  absurd  than  the  average 
amateur  manuscript,  but  the  present  writer  has 
seen  many  that  were  close  rivals  of  it.  It  is 
necessary  to  read  only  a  few  such  exaggerated 
examples  of  faulty  character  portrayal  and 
improbable  plot  to  realize  that  story  writing 
is  a  difficult  art  —  so  difficult  that  the  tyro  is 
likely  to  supply,  here  and  there  at  least,  passages 
of  unconscious  humor  to  sub-editors  whose  duty 
it  is  to  run  through  the  day's  volunteer  manu- 
scripts. It  is  only  by  a  rare  abihty  to  reahze 
one's  characters  so  intensely  that  they  seem  to 
be  actually  present  as  one  writes  that  natural, 
convincing  dialogue  and  brief,  pregnant  com- 
ments upon  these  characters  can  be  produced. 
Too  many  personages,  in  tales  with  skilful  plots, 
are  but  half -animate  or  wholly  inanimate  pup- 

[152] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

pets  moved  about  in  a  toy  theater.  You  catch 
the  author  studying  his  moves.  Even  in  crafts- 
manlike stories  one  who  is  himself  a  writer  of 
fiction  can  often  see  the,  machinery  which  is 
hidden  from  the  casual  reader.  To  conceal 
one's  art  perfectly,  either  in  dialogue  or  in 
structure,  is  an  achievement  reserved  for  a  few 
acknowledged  masters.  But  how  briefly,  some- 
times, is  a  great  effect  secured!  Lear  expresses 
his  intolerable  grief  over  the  death  of  Cordelia 
by  saying  simply  —  as  he  tugs  at  his  throat  — 
"Pray  you,  undo  this  button.  Thank  you, 
sir." 

Poe's  greatest  defect  was  his  lack  of  interest 
in  individuals.  Take  as  an  extreme  example  his 
remarkably  vivid  narrative  of  the  Spanish 
Inquisition,  The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum,  The 
man  lying  bound  under  the  descending  crescent 
of  steel  is  not  an  individual.  As  Professor  Bliss 
Perry  puts  it,  he  is  anyone  in  that  situation, 
"Richard  Roe  or  John  Doe."  Here  the  situa- 
tion itself  is  exciting  enough  and  memorable 
enough  to  carry  the  story;  but  it  is  not  usually 
ranked  as  one  of  Poe's  greatest  efforts.  By 
common  consent  it  is  a  kind  of  art  which  is  lower 
than  the  highest.  What  would  Savonarola  have 
done  in  such  a  situation?     That  is  the  kind 

[153] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

of  question  which  a  writer  profoundly  interested 
in  character  would  have  asked  himself.  It  is 
said  that  Browning  was  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  details  of  all  celebrated  murder  cases 
for  half  a  century  —  not  for  deUght  in  the  gory 
deeds  of  the  criminals  but  for  the  deUght  and 
wonder  of  searching  for  their  motives. 

In  sharp  contrast  to  Poe's  tale,  the  reaction 
of  one  particular  individual  on  another  is  admira- 
bly shown  in  one  of  Katharine  FuUerton  Ger- 
ould's  stories,  Vain  Oblations,  in  the  volume 
bearing  that  title.  ^  This  tale,  which  illustrates 
Mrs.  Gerould's  art  at  its  best  rather  than  at 
its  over-subtle  and  psychological  worst  —  for 
she  is  evidently  a  disciple  of  Henry  James  — 
contains  a  powerful  chmax  situation  that  could 
have  been  brought  about,  we  feel,  only  by  the 
cooperation  of  the  two  pecuUar  persons  con- 
cerned. The  theme  is  the  New  England  con- 
science. A  missionary's  daughter  has  been 
captured  in  Africa  by  a  hostile  tribe  and  has 
become  one  of  the  wives  of  a  chief.  Long  after- 
ward her  New  England  lover  finds  her,  but  she 
is  so  changed  in  appearance  that  she  is  able 
to  deceive  him  into  thinking  that  she  is,  after 
all,  another  person.     To  the  end,  he  is  not  quite 

*  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

[154] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

sure.  Unquestionably  here  is  a  strange  plot 
in  itself,  but  it  is  the  character  analysis  which 
makes  the  story.  If  Mrs.  Gerould  had  written 
many  tales  thus  combining  the  virtues  of  plot 
and  character,  she  would  have  reached  a  much 
wider  audience  than  she  has  so  far  succeeded 
in  reaching.     I  quote  the  climax  scene: 

Outside  the  hut,  her  back  to  the  setting  sun,  stood  the 
woman.  Saxe  had  of  course  known  that  Mary  would  be 
dressed  like  a  native;  but  this  figure  staggered  him.  She 
was  half  naked,  after  the  fashion  of  the  tribe,  a  long 
petticoat  being  her  only  garment.  Undoubtedly  her  skin 
had  been  originally  fair,  Saxe  said;  but  it  was  tanned  to 
a  deep  brown  —  virtually  bronzed.  For  that  matter, 
there  was  hardly  an  inch  of  her  that  was  not  tattooed  or 
painted.  Some  great  design,  crudely  smeared  in  with 
thick  strokes  of  ochre,  covered  her  throat,  shoulders,  and 
breast.  Over  it  were  hung  rows  and  rows  of  shells,  the 
longest  rows  reaching  to  the  top  of  the  petticoat.  Her 
face  was  oddly  marred  —  uncivilized,  you  might  say  — 
by  a  large  nose-ring,  and  a  metal  disk  that  was  set  in 
the  lower  lip,  distending  it.  .  .  .  To  his  consternation, 
the  woman  stood  absolutely  silent,  her  eyes  bent  on  the 
ground,  her  face  in  shadow.  Even  Saxe,  who  had  no 
psychology,  seems  to  have  seen  that  Mary  Bradford 
would,  in  that  plight  —  if  it  was  she  —  wait  for  him  to 
speak  first.  .  .  . 

Perhaps  he  was  simply  afraid  it  was  she  because  it 
would  be  so  terrible  if  it  were,  and  was  resolved  not  to 
shirk.     Saxe,  too,  was  a  New  Englander.     Xt  all  events, 

[155] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

he  shouted  his  creed  a  Httle  louder  still.  "You  are  treat- 
ing me  very  badly,  Mary.  I  am  going  to  buy  you  from 
the  chief;   and  then  you  will  Usten  to  me.".  .  . 

The  woman  grovelled  at  the  chief's  feet;  she  pointed 
to  Saxe  and  wrung  her  hands.  She  was  not  Saxe's  slave, 
and  evidently  did  not  wish  to  be.  .  .  . 

Let  it  be  said  now  that  Saxe  had  one  clear  inspiration. 
Before  leaving  the  hut,  he  had  turned  and  spoken  to  the 
woman  who  was  fawning  on  the  wretched  negro.  "Mary," 
he  said,  "  if  you  ask  me  to,  I  will  shoot  you  straight  through 
the  heart."  The  woman  had  snarled  unintelligibly  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  and  had  redoubled  her  caresses.  Can 
you  blame  Saxe  for  having  doubted.'*  Remember  that 
she  had  not  for  one  moment  given  any  sign  of  being  Mary 
Bradford;  remember  that  he  had  no  proof  that  it  was 
Mary  Bradford. 

Early  the  next  morning  she  was  found  dead 
in  her  own  hovel,  *'with  a  clean  stab  to  her 
heart."  The  author  adds:  "Suicide  is  virtually 
unknown  among  savages."  Why  did  she  do  it.^^ 
Evidently  because  she  felt  that  her  bodily 
degradation  had  unfitted  her  to  be  taken  back 
to  civilization  as  Saxe's  wife.  She  had  sacri- 
ficed herself  —  quixotically,  if  you  like  —  for 
his  sake.  You  feel,  after  following  the  whole 
story  carefully,  that  to  a  person  of  her  tempera- 
ment her  course  was  inevitable.  As  a  piece  of 
character  analysis  the  tale  is  worthy  of  high 

praise. 

[156] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

Stevenson's  beautiful  tale.  The  Sire  de  Male- 
troifs  Door,  is  well  worth  comparing  with  his 
Will  o'  the  Mill  or  A  Lodging  for  the  Night,  with 
respect  to  character.  The  young  lovers  in  the 
first-named  story  are  largely  typical  rather 
than  individual.  What  they  do  is  what  youth 
would  always  do  in  a  similar  situation.  There 
is  no  attempt  at  careful  individualization.  But 
the  Sire  de  Maletroit  himself  is,  in  contrast, 
remarkably  individualized : 

On  a  high  chair  beside  the  chimney,  and  directly  facing 
Denis  as  he  entered,  sat  a  little  old  gentleman  in  a  fur 
tippet.  He  sat  with  his  legs  crossed  and  his  hands  folded, 
and  a  cup  of  spiced  wine  stood  by  his  elbow  on  a  bracket 
on  the  wall.  His  countenance  had  a  strongly  masculine 
cast;  not  properly  human,  but  such  as  we  see  in  the  bull, 
the  goat,  or  the  domestic  boar;  something  equivocal  and 
wheedling,  something  greedy,  brutal,  and  dangerous. 
The  upper  lip  was  inordinately  full,  as  though  swollen  by 
a  blow  or  a  toothache;  and  the  smile,  the  peaked  eye- 
brows, and  the  small,  strong  eyes  were  quaintly  and  al- 
most comically  evil  in  expression.  Beautiful  white  hair 
hung  straight  all  round  his  head,  like  a  saint's,  and  fell 
in  a  single  curl  upon  the  tippet.  His  beard  and  mustache 
were  the  pink  of  venerable  sweetness.  Age,  probably  in 
consequence  of  inordinate  precautions,  had  left  no  mark 
upon  his  hands;  and  the  Maletroit  hand  was  famous. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  at  once  so  fleshy 
and  so  delicate  in  design;  the  taper,  sensual  fingers  were 

[157] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

like  those  of  one  of  Leonardo's  women;  the  fork  of  the 
thumb  made  a  dimpled  protuberance  when  closed;  the 
nails  were  perfectly  shaped,  and  of  a  dead,  surprising 
whiteness.  It  rendered  his  aspect  tenfold  more  redoubt- 
able, that  a  man  with  hands  hke  these  should  keep  them 
devoutly  folded  like  a  virgin  martyr  —  that  a  man  with 
so  intent  and  startling  an  expression  of  face  should  sit 
patiently  on  his  seat  and  contemplate  people  with  an  un- 
winking stare,  like  a  god,  or  a  god's  statue.  His  quies- 
cence seemed  ironical  and  treacherous,  it  fitted  so  poorly 
with  his  looks. 

Such  was  Alain,  Sire  de  Maletroit. 

You  will  search  far,  in  present-day  maga- 
zine fiction,  to  find  a  passage  like  that!  What 
Stevenson  said  of  HazHtt,  one  of  the  best  styl- 
ists of  the  nineteenth  century,  may  be  applied 
to  himself:  we  are  mighty  fine  fellows,  but  we 
can't  write  hke  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  illustrates  admirably 
what  is  true  of  most  of  the  effective  character 
studies  in  short  stories  —  that  the  persons  are 
unusual  and  striking,  perhaps  even  eccentric. 
This  kind  of  man  or  woman  can  be  handled  in 
the  brief  space  of  the  short  tale  much  more  easily 
and  vividly  than  can  an  average  person.  Ste- 
venson's Olalla,  Will  o'  the  Mill,  Villon,  and  Dr. 
Jekyll  are  all  out  of  the  ordinary.  And  so  are 
most   of   Kipling's    characters,    including   that 

[158] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

capable  young  lady,  William  the  Conqueror. 
Only  one  such  figure  is  necessary,  however, 
in  a  short  story.  The  others  —  of  whom  there 
should  be  few  —  may  be  nearer  to  the  normal. 
Character  contrast,  between  the  two  principal 
figures,  is  often  used  very  skilfully,  as  in  the 
case  of  Dravot  and  Carnehan  ^  or  Sherlock 
Holmes  and  Dr.  Watson.  In  both  these  cases 
one  is  weaker  and  is  used  merely  as  a  foil  to  the 
other.  What  Hamlet  says,  jestingly,  of  himself 
is  profoundly  true  if  applied  to  Watson  versus 
Holmes : 

"I'll  be  your  foil,  Laertes;  in  mine  ignorance 
Your  skill  shall,  like  a  star  i'  the  darkest  night. 
Stick  fiery  off  indeed." 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  also  that  the  short 
story  does  not  give  sufiicient  scope  for  the  de- 
velopment of  character.  Hawthorne's  Scarlet 
Letter  lends  him  opportunity  denied  to  his  brief 
tales.  In  them,  character  is  largely  static. 
But  it  may  be  tested  at  some  moment  of  crisis. 
And  it  is  in  such  moments  that  the  real  man 
comes  out.  Half  of  us  do  not  even  know  our- 
selves until  we  have  been  tested  by  some  crisis 
that  calls  for  immediate  action.     Browning  was 

1  In  The  Man  Who  Would  Be  King. 
[159] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

extraordinarily  fond  of  these  "eminent  mo- 
ments" of  life.  Of  the  meeting  of  the  Grand 
Duke  Ferdinand  and  the  unnamed  lady,  in  The 
Statue  and  the  Bust,  he  finely  says:  "The  past 
was  a  sleep  and  her  life  began."  The  short- 
story  writer  who  can  seize  upon  such  moments 
as  these  can  etch  a  memorable  portrait.  But 
he  must  not  hope  to  rival  the  noveHst  or  the 
dramatist  —  except  the  dramatist  in  the  one- 
act  play.  His  is  a  literary  form  with  strict 
limitations. 

It  has  not  seemed  wise  to  insert  in  this  vol- 
ume an  extended  discussion  of  reaUsm  versus 
romanticism  in  fiction.  Those  who  are  inter- 
ested in  this  eternal  controversy  will  find  two 
excellent  chapters  on  it  in  Professor  BHss  Perry's 
A  Study  of  Prose  Fiction.  It  is  perhaps  sufficient 
to  remark  here  that  Shakespeare's  plays,  hke 
most  great  Uterature,  show  a  judicious  com- 
bination of  reaUstic  and  romantic  elements. 
As  Maurice  Hewlett  says:  "The  peeling  and 
gutting  of  fact  should  be  done  in  the  kitchen." 
Homely  or  displeasing  details  of  everyday  Ufe 
should  not  be  exhibited  merely  for  their  own  sake. 
The  effect  of  Zola,  one  of  the  gods  of  the  realists, 
is  well  described  by  Cecil  Chesterton:  "His 
work  reminded  me  only  of  a  stretch  of  soft  mud 

[160] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

diversified  by  a  few  dead  dogs  and  decaying 
vegetables  —  as  depressing  as  it  was  noxious." 
A  good  way  to  arrive  at  a  verdict  as  to  what 
qualities  are  required  to  produce  the  greatest 
short  stories  is  to  take  a  vote  among  prominent 
writers  of  such  stories.  This  the  New  York 
Times  has  done,  in  a  symposium  printed  in  its 
issue  of  January  25,  1914. ^  Some  of  the  authors 
who  voted  were  Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle,  W. 
W.  Jacobs,  Booth  Tarkington,  Mary  E.  Wilkins- 
Freeman,  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  Mary  Rob- 
erts Rinehart,  James  Lane  Allen,  Leonard 
Merrick,  Owen  Wister,  Robert  W.  Chambers, 
Owen  Johnson,  Jack  London,  Edna  Ferber, 
Irvin  S.  Cobb,  Richard  Harding  Davis,  Mon- 
tague Glass,  and  Gouverneur  Morris.  They 
were  asked  to  name  "pointblank"  the  best 
short  story  in  English.  Some  refused  to  select 
any  one,  but  mentioned  several.  As  a  result, 
Stevenson's  A  Lodging  for  the  Night  and  Bret 
Harte's  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  led  all  the 
rest.  In  a  second  group  fell  three  Kipling 
tales.  The  Man  Who  Would  Be  King,  The  Brush- 
wood Boy,  and  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy;  also 
Joseph  Conrad's  Heart  of  Darkness  and  O. 
Henry's  A  Municipal  Report.     In  a  third  group 

1  What  is  The  Best  Short  Story  in  English? 
[161] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

came  Dickens'  A  Christmas  Carol,  Poe's  The 
Gold-Bug  and  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher, 
Bret  Harte's  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  and 
Irvin  Cobb's  The  Belled  Buzzard. 

Conan  Doyle  declared  that,  on  the  whole, 
Stevenson's  Pavilion  on  the  Links  was  his  ideal 
of  a  short  story.  W.  W.  Jacobs  thought  that 
"one  of  the  best"  was  Will  o'  the  Mill,  Thomas 
Nelson  Page  voted  for  Heart  of  Darkness. 
James  Lane  Allen  named  A  Christmas  Carol, 
though  he  added  that  it  is  "perhaps  as  faulty 
a  story  as  was  ever  written"  —  which  is  prob- 
ably due  to  the  fact  that  Dickens  was  not  pri- 
marily a  short-story  writer  and  had  not  studied 
the  special  technique  of  the  short  story. 

The  verdicts  of  authors  are  not,  on  the  whole, 
so  valuable  as  those  of  persons  more  detached 
—  of  trained  critics.  But  most  of  the  stories 
named  satisfy  the  verdict  of  humanity.  Now, 
what  qualities  do  these  best  stories  exhibit? 
I  think  it  will  be  found  safe  to  generalize  to 
this  extent:  Those  short  stories  are  greatest 
which,  in  addition  to  good  structure  and  good 
character  portrayal,  show  fine  humanity,  with 
a  touch  of  elevation,  of  nobiUty.^     They  must 

*  It  is  assumed  that  they  show  a  good  English  style.  This  topic  is 
treated  in  the  next  chapter. 

[162] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

lift  us  out  of  the  commonplace  and  inspire  us. 
And  they  do  it  largely  by  the  touch  of  elevation 
in  even  such  hardened  characters  as  that  of 
Oakhurst,  the  professional  gambler.  ^  Literary 
conscience  and  the  touch  of  elevation  mark  all 
great  literature  of  a  serious  turn  —  all  literature 
which  the  generations  finally  agree  to  call  classic. 
The  ambition  of  the  two  adventurers,  Dravot 
and  Carnehan,  in  The  Man  Who  Would  Be 
King,  certainly  shows  this  elevation;  and  A 
Municipal  Report  reveals  that  kindness  of  heart 
which  prevents  us  from  losing  faith  in  human 
nature.  Ingenious  as  are  the  plots  of  some  of 
these  best  stories,  it  is  treatment  of  character 
which  overtops  all  else.  What  was  that  illu- 
minating remark  that  Lamb  made  when  some 
one  asked  him  whether  he  didn't  hate  a  certain 
man.f^  ''Hate  him.^"  replied  Lamb  in  surprise. 
"How  could  I  hate  him.^  Didn't  I  know  him.^" 
In  that  answer  is  contained  a  whole  textbook 
of  character  study.  Only  in  melodrama  is  there 
such  an  anomaly  as  an  out-and-out  villain  or 
an  out-and-out  hero.  The  writers  of  the  greatest 
short  stories  know  human  nature.  They  are 
enthralled  and  uplifted  by  the  "mystery  and 
surprise  of  character." 

1  In  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat. 
[163] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

In  A  Lodging  for  the  Night  there  is  a  fine 
balance  between  plot  and  character.  The  mur- 
der supplies  sufficient  excitement;  and  there  is 
also  a  vivid  tableau  when  Villon  confronts  the 
honest  old  gentleman  in  his  doorway  and  asks 
him  for  a  lodging.  Here,  however,  it  is  clear 
that  Stevenson  was  interested  chiefly  in  the 
contrast  in  appearance  and  character  between 
the  two  —  the  rogue  and  the  honest  man.  The 
description  of  the  latter,  as  he  stands  in  the 
strong  hght,  framed  in  a  doorway  picture,  is 
not  Hkely  to  be  forgotten  even  by  the  casual 
reader.  The  vagabond  poet,  with  all  his  clever- 
ness, makes  but  a  poor  figure  beside  simple 
and  soldierly  uprightness.  Yet  of  didacticism 
there  is  hardly  a  trace  in  the  tale. 

Among  highly  popular  short  stories  this  is 
one  of  the  few  that  go  far  back  in  time.  The 
scene  is  laid  in  the  Paris  of  1456.  Maurice 
Hewlett's  less  well  known  Quattrocentisteria,  laid 
in  Florence  at  about  the  same  time,  may  well 
be  compared  with  it.  There,  also,  is  to  be  dis- 
cerned the  finest  character  work  possible  with- 
in the  narrow  limits  of  the  short  story,  and 
in  addition  a  remarkable  purity  and  nobility  in 
handling  a  sex  theme:  painter  and  model.  In 
both  stories  creative  imagination  is,  of  course,  far 

[164] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

above  the  merely  good.  In  connection  with 
Stevenson's  it  is  worth  while  to  read  his  essay, 
Frangois  Villon,  Student,  Poet,  and  Housebreaker, 
in  order  to  see  how  differently  some  of  the  same 
material  is  treated  in  non-fiction  form. 

The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,  though  often  listed 
as  a  local-color  story,  gains  its  high  rank  chiefly 
from  its  sympathy  and  penetration  in  treat- 
ment of  character.  It  is  in  many  respects 
intensely  American;  and  this  doubtless  accounts 
for  the  large  number  of  votes  cast  for  it  by 
American  authors.  But  its  appeal  is  universal. 
As  an  illustration  of  the  "soul  of  goodness  in 
things  evil"  it  would  be  difficult  to  surpass  it. 
Peter  B.  Kyne's  The  Three  Godfathers,  which  is 
also  laid  in  the  Far  West  and  founded  on  a  similar 
theme,  affords  a  suggestive  comparison  among 
recent  short  tales.  It  has  the  same  touch  of 
nobility.  Three  desperadoes,  after  committing 
a  crime,  meet  a  woman  at  the  point  of  death 
and  agree  to  take  her  baby  out  of  the  desert  to 
civilization.  Two  of  them  perish  of  weariness 
and  thirst,  but  the  youngest  finally  staggers 
to  his  goal.  For  sentiment  without  sentimen- 
tality there  are  few  magazine  stories  that  can 
match  it.  John  Oakhurst,  however,  in  Bret 
Harte's  tale,  is  probably  better  drawn  than  any 

[165] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

of  the  three  characters  in  Mr.  Kyne's.  There 
is  an  ahnost  epic  largeness  about  his  figure 
which  Hfts  the  story  out  of  the  reahn  of  the 
popular  periodical  into  the  domain  of  permanent 
hterature.  It  would  be  rash,  however,  to  pre- 
dict that  The  Three  Godfathers  will  not  eventu- 
ally find  entrance  into  the  same  domain.  Mr. 
Kyne  at  his  best  has  more  than  mere  talent  — 
feHcity  rather  than  facihty. 

In  The  Brushwood  Boy  it  must  be  the  author's 
power  of  imagination  which  is  chiefly  admired. 
Here  also,  nevertheless,  the  character  portrayal 
should  not  be  overlooked.  George  Cottar  makes 
the  story  convincing  because  he  is  such  a  normal, 
healthy,  and  eflBcient  human  being.  He  is  not 
a  creature  of  nerves;  and  his  psychical  experi- 
ence is  therefore  better  suited  to  Kipling's 
purpose  than  is  that  of  the  blind  woman  in 
They,  When  he  declares  his  love  for  the  girl 
who  has  shared  his  remarkable  dream  voyages 
that  start  from  the  brushwood  pile  on  the  beach, 
he  is  surprised  to  find  himself  saying  things  to 
her  which  he  had  previously  imagined  to  exist 
only  in  story-books.  It  is  his  matter-of-fact- 
ness  which  individuahzes  the  tale  quite  as  much 
as  the  strange  plot.  Here  again,  therefore,  is 
an  admirable  example  of  the  balance  between 

[166] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

plot  and  character  which  should  mark  any 
great  story.  Analyzing  character  while  the  nar- 
rative stands  still  is  not  good  art  in  the  short 
story  —  and  not  the  highest  art  in  the  novel. 
Considered  as  a  story,  George  EHot's  Adam 
Bede  is  superior  to  her  later  novel.  Middle- 
march.  The  same  is  true  of  Henry  James' 
early  works  as  compared  with  his  later  ones. 
Character  is  of  genuine  story  value  only  when  it 
is  shown  in  action.  In  the  short  story,  as  has 
already  been  pointed  out,  it  should  generally  be 
shown  at  some  *' eminent  moment"  of  life,  some 
crisis  which  will  put  it  to  a  severe  test. 

Obviously,  A  Christmas  Carol  would  have  re- 
ceived no  votes  at  all  on  the  score  of  technique. 
Charles  Dickens  did  not  know  how  to  write  a 
short  story;  but  here  he  blundered  into  great- 
ness, if  one  may  speak  cavalierly,  by  sheer 
merit  of  character  portrayal  and  warm  human 
sympathy.  He  is  didactic  and  sentimental  — 
as  didactic  as  Hawthorne  in  his  second-best 
work  and  as  sentimental  (almost)  as  a  modern 
"best-seller"  —  but  he  probes  the  human  heart 
with  a  sure  finger.  Dickens  was  so  great  a 
novelist  that  he  could  not  help  showing  some  of 
his  greatness  even  in  a  literary  form  which  was 
uncongenial   to   him.     The  moment,   however, 

[167] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

that  one  compares  him  as  a  short-story  writer 
with  KipHng  or  Stevenson,  one  can  see  what  is 
missing. 

The  fact  that  three  Kiphng  tales  were  placed 
in  the  second  group  of  most  popular  stories  is 
significant  partly  in  that  Kiphng  is  intensely 
modern.  Better  than  any  other  short-story 
artist,  he  caught,  in  his  great  period,  from  1888 
to  about  1900,  the  spirit  of  the  age.  His  effect 
upon  his  pubhc  has  been  so  well  put  by  Pro- 
fessor Stuart  P.  Sherman  ^  that  I  reproduce  the 
passage  here : 

In  concocting  his  tales  he  aimed  to  hit  robust  masculine 
tastes,  to  speak  with  a  tang  to  men  in  smoking-rooms, 
and  trains  and  barracks.  But  he  made  them  so  bril- 
liant with  Oriental  color,  so  intense  and  arresting  in 
their  energy,  wonder,  terror,  and  splendor  that  he  fas- 
cinated not  merely  the  miscellaneous  reading  multitudes 
but  also  the  hardened  critics  and  the  fastidious  literary 
men  like  R.  L.  Stevenson  and  Mr.  Henry  James,  who 
dropped  their  pens,  and  pricked  up  their  ears,  and  cried 
out  to  one  another  that  in  the  smoking-room  there  was 
a  great  artist. 

Kipling  is  both  a  people's  author  and  an 
authors'  author.  This  is  true  also  of  O.  Henry, 
but  not  to  anything  hke  the  same  extent.  And 
this  is  due  mainly  to  the  fact  that  his  characters 

1  A  Book  of  Short  Stories,  p.  337.     Henry  Holt  &  Co. 
[168] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

are  by  no  means  so  well  individualized.  One 
does  not  think  offhand  of  even  the  best  of  them 
as  indubitable  flesh-and-blood  people  —  which 
is  how  one  thinks  of  Mulvaney  and  William  the 
Conqueror  and  Dravot  and  Cottar.  One  pic- 
tures O.  Henry  as  more  thoroughly  at  home  in 
the  smoking-room  than  Kipling;  the  latter  has 
evidently  put  in  a  good  many  quiet  hours  in  a 
spacious  library  of  the  old  masters.  He  comes 
to  his  modernity  down  an  avenue  of  inheritances 
and  traditions. 

The  relegation  of  Poe  to  the  third  group,  by 
the  author  vote,  is  intelligible  because  of  his 
lack  of  interest  in  character  and  his  morbidity; 
but  one  rubs  one's  eyes  upon  discovering  no 
Hawthorne  tale  in  any  group.  Is  Hawthorne 
old-fashioned.^  Has  the  New  England  con- 
science been  totally  superseded.^  Is  Hawthorne 
spiritually  provincial.^  I  find  no  very  satis- 
factory answers  to  these  questions;  but  I  dis- 
cover something  suggestive  in  this  comment 
by  one  of  his  modern  critics:  "He  found  it 
difficult  to  form  contacts  with  his  fellow  men 
because  he  was  almost  wholly  engrossed  in 
what  they  prefer  not  to  communicate"  —  in 
other  words,  in  secrets  of  the  conscience.  Pro- 
fessor C.  T.   Winchester,  in  his  Principles  of 

[169] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Literary  Criticism,^  states  that,  for  literary- 
purposes,  "the  emotions  highest  of  all  are  those 
related  to  the  deciding  forces  of  Hfe,  the  affec- 
tions and  the  conscience."  But  Hawthorne, 
who  was  a  Uttle  chilly,  rarely  showed  strength 
in  the  realm  of  the  affections.  Can  you  recall 
offhand  any  Hawthorne  character  for  whom 
you  have  a  warm,  intimate  hking?  Perhaps 
for  Ernest,  in  The  Great  Stone  Face;  but  even 
this  story  failed  to  receive  a  vote.  Some  of  us, 
I  suspect,  will  not  be  able  to  reconcile  ourselves 
to  the  omission,  from  any  Ust  of  great  short 
stories,  of  such  masterpieces  as  Tlie  Birthmark, 
The  Artist  of  the  Beautiful,  Ethan  Brand,  and 
The  Ambitious  Guest.  And  the  influence  of 
Hawthorne  upon  the  short  story  of  to-day,  if 
not  so  great  as  that  of  Poe  and  Maupassant, 
is  nevertheless  clearly  to  be  discerned.  His 
chief  defect,  I  suspect,  in  the  eyes  of  the  voting 
authors,  was  that  he  was  obsessed  by  allegory 
and  was  always  a  httle  too  much  the  preacher. 
One  thinks  of  him,  with  his  romantic  tone  and 
rhythmical  periods,  as  the  Jeremy  Taylor  of  the 
short  story. 

It  is  the  touch  of  elevation  which  is  most 
lacking    in  current  magazine    fiction  —  partic- 

1  Page  108. 
[170] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

ularly  in  the  magazines  of  large  circulation. 
Flippant,  colloquial,  slangy  tales  predominate, 
designed  merely  to  fill  in  the  half-hour  before 
dinner,  or  the  hour  or  two  on  the  train,  or  the 
evening  after  hard  work  at  the  office  or  in  the 
field.  Many  tales  of  this  kind  there  must  be  — 
tales  that  amuse  without  requiring  much  thought. 
But  they  are  forgotten  the  week  after  they  are 
read.  Their  very  dialect  is  ephemeral;  the  slang 
and  colloquialisms  of  to-day  are  thrown  on  the 
ash  heap  of  to-morrow.  Some  of  O.  Henry's 
stories,  for  this  reason,  are  already  beginning  to 
sound  fiat  and  stale,  after  an  interval  of  less 
than  ten  years  —  but  not  his  best  ones. 

The  writer  of  short  stories  who  wishes  to  gain 
the  top  must  take  his  craft  seriously.  He  must 
give  more  than  the  average  editor  demands  — 
that  more  which  consists  in  character  portrayal 
that  will  stand  scrutiny,  not  merely  the  hasty 
reading  of  the  average  subscriber;  in  construc- 
tion that  needs  no  props,  no  editorial  changes 
or  suggestions;  in  English  style  that  is  unpre- 
tentious but  carefully  wrought;  and  in  honesty 
that  refuses  to  treat  themes  and  characters 
with  which  he  has  only  an  imperfect  acquaint- 
ance. It  may  be  true  that,  when  business  comes 
in  at  the  door,  art  fiies  out  of  the  window.     Yet 

[171] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

good  work,  sound  work,  always  finds  ultimately 
its  reward.  If  you  are  writing  for  a  definite 
magazine,  give  the  editor  what  he  says  he  wants, 
also  what  he  really  wants  —  and  then  the  little 
more  which  is  art. 


EXERCISES 

1.  Make  an  outline  (if  you  can!)  of  Joseph  Conrad's 
Youth  (in  the  volume  bearing  that  title),  in  order  to  show 
how  little  dependence  he  places  on  plot  in  this  instance. 
Compare  Heart  of  Darkness,  in  the  same  volume.  Can 
you  suggest  any  reasons,  aside  from  plot,  why  Conrad  is 
not  so  popular  among  average  magazine  readers  as  was 
O.  Henry?  And  how  do  you  account  for  the  fact  that  so 
many  story  writers  admire  him  greatly? 

2.  Of  six  stories  in  a  single  issue  of  Harper^s  how  many 
are  mystery  or  problem  stories?  Apply  the  same  test  to 
six  in  two  successive  issues  of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post. 
Do  you  prefer  the  "problem"  tales  in  these  magazines? 
Why,  or  why  not? 

3.  Compare  the  plot  with  the  character  drawing  in 
Galsworthy's  admirable  little  story.  Quality  (in  Short 
Stories  for  High  Schools).  Is  there  any  mystery  or  sur- 
prise in  this  story?  What  does  the  title  suggest,  as  to 
the  author's  purpose? 

4.  Find  in  a  current  magazine  a  story  which  resembles 
Poe's  The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum  —  one  where  the  situ- 
ation is  everything  and  the  character  or  characters  noth- 

[172] 


Character  vs.  Plot 

ing,    so    far    as    individualization    is    concerned.     Then 
compare  it  with  some  other  story  in  the  same  issue. 

5.  Give  an  impression  of  the  character  of  Sherlock 
Holmes  from  any  one  of  the  short  stories  in  which  he 
appears. 

6.  Give  three  examples  of  a  striking  test  of  character 
(in  a  short  story)  at  an  "eminent  moment"  of  life  —  a 
moment  of  supreme  crisis.  What  writers  handle  such  a 
moment  best.'^  Compare  Kipling,  for  example,  with 
Mary  Wilkins-Freeman  or  with  O.  Henry. 

7.  In  what  magazines  do  you  find  most  stories  with  a 
touch  of  elevation,  of  nobility?  And  in  what  ones  do  you 
find  most  that  are  flippant,  or  cynical,  or  merely  exam- 
ples of  light  entertainment?  What  evidence  do  you  find, 
if  any,  that  our  best  magazines  are  giving  us  some  real 
literature  in  their  short  stories? 

8.  Give  an  example  from  one  of  Booth  Tarkington's 
Penrod  tales  of  what  he  calls  "the  mystery  and  surprise 
of  character."  Try  An  Overwhelming  Saturday ,  which  is 
one  of  his  best.  (You  will  find  this,  under  different  chap- 
ter titles,  in  Penrod^  chapters  xv,  xvi,  xvii;  or,  in  its 
original  form,  in  the  Cosmopolitan,  Nov.,  1913.) 

9.  Peter  B.  Kyne's  admirable  story.  The  Three  God- 
fathers, has  been  "dramatized"  by  a  motion  picture  com- 
pany. Does  this  indicate  that  the  pictorial  element  in 
it,  the  action  element,  is  stronger  than  the  characters? 
Read  it,  and  write  a  comment  upon  the  characterization. 
Compare  it,  favorably  or  unfavorably,  with  some  other 
story  of  pathos. 

[173] 


Tlie  Contemporary  Short  Story 

10.  WTiat  writers  seem  to  prefer  very  unusual  or  ec- 
centric characters?  Does  this  method,  in  your  opinion, 
improve  or  injure  their  short  stories?  Why?  Compare 
Kipling's  The  Man  Who  Would  Be  King  with  The  Brush- 
wood Boy,  with  respect  to  choice  and  portrayal  of  char- 
acters. And  compare  his  average  characters  with  those 
in  one  of  Jane  Austen's  novels  —  Pride  and  Prejudice, 
for  example. 

11.  Prophecy  is  a  dangerous  business;  but  name  at 
least  one  highly  popular  magazine  writer  whose  work 
seems  superficial  and  aimed  merely  at  temporary  vogue 
—  one  not  likely  to  be  read  much  after  his  death.  Is 
his  lack  of  permanent  quality  chiefly  a  lack  of  depth 
and  truth  of  character  portrayal?  Of  a  noble  attitude 
toward  life?  Of  a  truly  literary  style?  Or  is  it  a  result 
of  apparent  haste  in  composition?  Of  insincerity?  Of 
over-addiction  to  newspaper  methods  and  atmosphere? 

12.  In  a  given  set  of  circumstances  —  for  example,  in 
Kipling's  The  Brushwood  Boy  —  substitute  a  different 
type  of  character  for  the  one  used  by  the  author  as  his 
hero  or  heroine.  Would  this  new  character  act  as  did 
the  original  one?  Interchange  some  of  Shakespeare's 
characters  —  Opheha  with  Lady  Macbeth  or  Cleopatra, 
for  example  —  and  observe  the  profound  change  which 
would  be  necessary  in  plot. 

13.  In  the  newspaper  reports  of  any  recent  murder 
case,  study  the  apparent  motives  of  the  criminal.  Which 
seem  certain  and  which  doubtful?    And  why? 

14.  In  which  of  the  following  stories  is  there  a  char- 
acter, or  more  than  one,  that  you  instantly  remember? 

[174] 


Char  (Miter  vs.  Plot 

And  why  do  you  remember  him  or  her  so  readily?  (This 
of  course  presupposes  that  you  have  already  perused  the 
tales  mentioned.)  Poe's  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher, 
Maupassant's  The  Necklaeey  Kipling's  The  Man  Who 
Wasy  O.  Henry's  Phoebe,  Mary  Wilkins-Freeman's  The 
Revolt  of  ''Mother,''  Poe's  The  Gold-Bug,  Hawthorne's 
The  Great  Stone  Face,  Conan  Doyle's  The  Adventure  of 
the  Speckled  Band. 

15.  Compare  Zelig,  by  Benjamin  Rosenblatt,  in 
O'Brien's  The  Best  Short  Stories  of  1915,  with  Mary 
Synon's  The  Bounty-Jumper  in  the  same  volume.  Mr. 
O'Brien  declares  that  Zelig  is  the  best  story  of  the  year; 
but  the  editor  of  The  Bookman  (May,  1916)  says  that  it 
is  not  the  second  best,  "nor  the  twentieth  best."  What 
is  your  opinion?  n 


^2^-/^-^ 


[175] 


CHAPTER  V 

STYLE    AND    THE    CLASSICS 

Whoever  talks  of  excellence  as  common  and  abun- 
dant, is  on  the  way  to  lose  all  right  standard  of  excel- 
lence. And  when  the  right  standard  of  excellence  is 
lost,  it  is  not  likely  that  much  which  is  excellent  will 
be  produced.  —  Matthew  Arnold,  Essays  in  CrUi- 
cisiriy  Second  Series, 

Although  fairly  good  prose  is  much  more  common 
than  fairly  good  verse,  yet  I  hold  that  truly  fine  prose 
is  more  rare  than  truly  fine  poetry.  I  trust  that  it 
will  be  counted  neither  a  whim  nor  a  paradox  if  I' give 
it  as  a  reason  that  mastery  in  prose  is  an  art*more 
difficult  than  mastery  in  verse.  The  very  freedom  of 
prose,  its  want  of  conventions,  of  settled  prosody,  of 
musical  inspiration,  give  wider  scope  for  failure  and 
afford  no  beaten  paths.  —  Frederic  Harrison,  On 
English  Prose. 

I  do  not  know  —  and  I  do  not  believe  that  any  one 
knows,  however  much  he  may  juggle  with  terms  — 
why  certain  words  arranged  in  certain  order  stir  one 
like  the  face  of  the  sea,  or  like  the  face  of  a  girl,  while 
other  arrangements  leave  one  absolutely  indifferent 
or  excite  boredom  or  dislike.  —  George  Saintsbury, 
A  History  of  Criticism. 

No  style  is  good  that  is  not  fit  to  be  spoken  or  read 
aloud  with  effect.  —  William  Hazlitt,  The  Plain 
Speaker. 

[176] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

Each  phrase  in  literature  is  built  of  sounds,  as  each 
phrase  in  music  consists  of  notes.  One  sound  suggests, 
echoes,  demands,  and  harmonizes  with  another;  and 
the  art  of  rightly  using  these  concordances  is  the  final 
art  in  literature.  —  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  On 
Some  Technical  Elements  of  Style  in  Literature. 

Among  the  editors  who  have  made  known  their 
wants  in  the  monthly  Bulletin  of  the  Authors' 
League  of  America,  only  one  states  that  contri- 
butions must  be  written  "with  due  regard  to 
English  style."  The  omission,  in  many  of  the 
other  cases,  is  significant.  A  well-known  fic- 
tion editor  remarked,  in  a  lecture  to  a  college 
class  in  the  short  story,  that  though  editors 
do  not  discourage  finish  of  style  they  do  not 
call  for  it  —  with  the  implication  that  it  adds 
nothing  to  the  money  value  of  a  story.  Another 
editor,  equally  well  known,  is  reputed  to  have 
said  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  classic  — 
that  his  clever  writers  are  just  as  good  as  Steven- 
son and  Thackeray  and  Swift  and  Addison. 
And  an  anonymous  contributor  to  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post  delivers  himself  of  this  naive 
verdict: 

The  principal  reason  a  gem  of  literature  is  called  classic 
is  because  it  is  old.  The  authors  who  are  now  revered 
as  producers  of  classics  —  the  boys  we  all  revere  and 
never  read  —  were  pretty  lucky  in  their  day  and  gen- 

[177] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

eration;  for,  with  most  of  them,  the  sole  reason  for  the 
embalming  of  their  productions  in  the  amber  of  literary 
regard  is  found  in  the  anterior  period  in  which  they  were 
produced,  and  not  in  the  art  of  their  productions.  There 
was  not  so  much  competition,  and  they  got  by  rather 
easily. 

Making  due  allowance  for  the  fact  that  this 
verdict  occurs  in  a  humorous  article,  one  may 
still  surmise  that  it  represents  pretty  accu- 
rately the  sober  opinion  of  its  author  (whose 
name  is  known  to  the  present  writer).  Certain 
it  is  that  this  somewhat  egotistical  contributor 
did  not  get  his  own  style  from  the  classics; 
else  he  would  have  learned  not  to  waste  words. 

As  educators  have  mournfully  and  frequently 
asserted,  the  ultra-popular  periodical  lowers 
the  tone  of  written  and  spoken  Enghsh  by 
encouraging,  in  fact  insisting  upon,  a  profusion 
of  colloquialisms  and  slang.  In  humorous  arti- 
cles and  stories  this  is  somewhat  defensible; 
but  it  probably  accounts  for  the  fact  that,  in  a 
recent  test,  half  of  the  students  in  a  college 
class  in  rhetoric  were  unable  to  recognize  as 
slang  the  term  "joy  ride."  As  mentioned  in 
the  last  chapter,  O.  Henry  will  undoubtedly 
sufifer  from  his  too  liberal  use  of  ephemeral 
slang.     Twenty-five  years   from   now   most   of 

[178] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

this  slang  will  have  been  forgotten  and  new 
phrases  will  have  taken  the  place  of  the  old  — 
to  be  forgotten  in  their  turn.  But  the  phrases 
of  Swift  and  Addison,  written  in  the  early  eigh- 
teenth century,  are  as  good  to-day  as  when  the 
wits  of  the  Queen  Anne  coffee  houses  first 
applauded  them.  Swift  was  ''the  prince  of 
journalists  " ;  but  he  would  not  have  been  known 
to-day  if  he  had  not  been  something  more.  He 
was  a  literary  artist. 

Certain  editors  of  highly  popular  magazines 
have  steadfastly  set  their  faces  against  allowing 
America  to  become  what  Lord  Palmerston 
called  Germany:  "A  land  of  damned  profes- 
sors." But  it  must  be  remembered  that  such 
editors  —  and  some  book  publishers  also  — 
are  of  the  business-man  type  rather  than  the 
literary  type.  Some  of  them  would  apparently 
like  to  create  a  sort  of  French  Revolution  in 
literature,  in  the  course  of  which  all  the  "high- 
brows" should  be  guillotined  and  all  the  other 
fellows  exalted.  If  this  blessed  millennium  ever 
arrives,  we  shall  all  humbly  admit  that  we 
were  mistaken  in  preferring  Stevenson  to  Sam- 
uel G.  Blythe,  and  we  shall  calmly  accept  the 
new  literary  era  in  which  businesslike  editors 
of  periodicals  with  a  circulation  of  a  million 

[179] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

or  two  millions  shall  act  as  arbiters  of  the 
reading  and  literary  destinies  of  the  American 
people ! 

But  —  first  listen  to  Harry  Leon  Wilson, 
who,  as  a  favorite  contributor  to  the  Post, 
cannot  be  accused  of  being  a  "high-brow." 
In  the  Sun  symposium,  referred  to  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  he  quotes  a  request  for  a  story: 
"We  would  prefer  that  it  be  a  romance  with  a 
strong  love  interest  and  a  charming  girl  heroine, 
so  to  say,  with  a  dramatic  ending  that  will  sur- 
prise the  reader." 

And  he  adds  this  comment: 

If  we  are  still  at  the  diaperous  stage  it  is  because  pub- 
lishers have  kept  us  there.  Roughly  speaking,  they  are 
all  about  equally  guilty.  The  proof  of  it  is  that  scarce 
one  of  them  will  see  anything  cheap  or  funny  or  imper- 
tinent in  the  above  prescription  —  or,  alas !  more  dreadful 
still,  anything  significant.  Publishers  get  to  be  like 
that.  God  knows  I  do  truly  rate  my  own  writings  as 
but  of  moderate  worth,  but  I  have  never  known  a  pub- 
Hsher  who  was  as  meek  as  he  should  have  been,  even  in 
my  poor  presence.  I  know  hardly  one  of  them  that 
wouldn't  feel  competent  to  tell  me  the  sort  of  thing  I 
ought  to  write.  And  they  are  doing  it  and  we  are  doing 
it  —  too  many  of  us. 

Mr.  Wilson  deserves  a  medal  for  his  frankness. 
Good  writers  should  not  allow  themselves  to 

[180] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

be  bullied  by  editors  and  publishers.  The 
fact  is  that  we  are  in  danger  of  developing 
in  America  a  race  of  literary  invertebrates. 
They  write  mediocre  sex  stories  when  they 
might  be  writing  good  outdoor  stories  of  adven- 
ture or  serious  studies  of  genuine  contemporary 
problems.  And  American  readers  of  popular 
magazines  are  rapidly  losing  their  respect  for 
that  which  most  surely  distinguishes  real  litera- 
ture—  the  genius  for  expression,  for  style. 

This  is  the  nub  of  the  whole  matter.  We 
acclaim  as  geniuses  writers  who  have  never 
learned  how  to  write  and  who  never  will,  men 
and  women  who  have  never  felt  the  joy  of  the 
finely  turned  phrase  and  the  subtle  prose  rhythm 
of  a  Stevenson  or  a  Lamb.  Aside  from  his 
ability  as  a  thinker  and  an  interpreter  of  life, 
the  chief  excuse  for  a  writer's  occupation  —  I. 
am  speaking  here  of  belles  lettres  rather  than  of 
manuals  of  information  —  is  his  ability  to  say 
felicitously  what  we  have  all  felt  but  could 
never  hope  to  catch  in  the  magic  leash  of  words. i 
This  ability  is  possessed  by  not  more  than  a 
minority  of  our  American  fiction  writers.  Says 
Kipling,  in  a  recent  poem: 

^  Cf.  Hazlitt:  "  We  only  find  in  books  what  is  already  written  within 
'  the  red-leaved  tables  of  our  hearts.' " 

C  181  ] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

"Ah!  what  avails  the  classic  bent. 

And  what  the  chosen  word, 

Against  the  uncultured  incident 

That  actually  occurred?  "  ^ 

If,  however,  the  incident  is  not  only  uncultured 
but  fictitious,  then  there  is  little  excuse  for 
the  absence  of  well-wrought  phraseology.  The 
crudity  of  American  prose  style  in  fiction  is 
becoming  hardly  less  than  alarming.  Of  the 
four  excellences  of  prose  style  mentioned  by 
Matthew  Arnold  —  regularity,  uniformity,  pre- 
cision, balance  —  many  of  our  noveUsts  and 
short-story  writers  seem  never  to  have  heard. 
Jack  London,  for  example,  a  writer  of  real 
talent,  has  never  overcome  the  painful  uneven- 
ness  of  texture  which  marks  the  'prentice.  He 
is  an  artist  in  spots  —  a  good  many  spots  in 
The  Call  of  tJie  Wild  and  John  Barleycorn  —  but 
he  is  not  a  consistent  artist. 

When  Chesterton  called  this  an  age  of  inspired 
oflSce  boys,  he  was  more  nearly  right  with  refer- 
ence to  this  country  than  to  his  own.  "Fame's 
great  antiseptic,  style,"  has  been  applied  to 
very  few  of  the  somewhat  pathological  speci- 
mens of  recent  "best-sellers."  John  Galsworthy 
had  it  in  his  Dark  Flower;  but  Mr.  Galsworthy 

1  Metrapoliian  Magazine.    Copyright  by  Rudyard  Kipling. 

[182] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

is  a  Briton.  The  unevenness  of  Rupert  Hughes' 
performance  in  What  Will  People  Say?  is  a 
lamentable  contrast.  But  it  is  not  the  purpose 
of  the  present  writer  to  multiply  lists  of  offenders 
against  style  —  against  adequate  expression. 
It  suflfices  to  say  that  there  are  only  two  classes 
of  authors :  those  who  have  a  literary  conscience 
and  those  who  have  none.  Many  of  our  Amer- 
ican fiction  writers  may  be  estimable  private 
citizens;  but  some  of  them  have  not  been 
reared  in  a  genuinely  literary  atmosphere  Uke 
that  in  which  authors  such  as  Mr.  Galsworthy 
were  reared.  They  would  probably  reject  as 
laughable  Milton's  definition  of  a  real  book  as 
"the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master  spirit, 
embalmed  and  treasured  up  on  purpose  to  a 
life  beyond  life." 

If  it  were  not  for  the  editorial  shibboleth, 
"American  subjects  for  American  readers," 
more  Britons  would  probably  crowd  out  Ameri- 
cans from  the  popular  magazines  than  at  pres- 
ent; for  even  the  most  businesslike  type  of 
editor  has  a  sneaking  admiration  for  style  — 
though  he  might  not  recognize  it  by  this  name. 
What  American  humorist  in  fiction  has  anything 
like  the  unerring  sense  of  humorous  and  char- 
acterizing phrase  that  distinguishes  the  work 

[183] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

of  W.  W.  Jacobs?  Concerning  his  rivals  in 
this  country,  it  may  be  said  that  most  of  them 
are  merely  clever  journahsts.  And  some  of 
them  would  be  generous  enough  to  admit  it. 
Booth  Tarkington's  Penrod  tales,  however,  show 
a  style  above  journalese;  hkewise  his  novel. 
The  Turmoil,  which  is  a  much-needed  criticism 
of  our  American  glorification  of  commercialism, 
of  business  hfe. 

Gouverneur  Morris,  in  answering  a  query- 
put  to  him  as  to  the  best  short  story  in  English, 
after  naming  several,  humorously  added:  "I 
like  my  own  stories  better  than  anybody  else's 
—  until  they  are  written."  The  remark  is  a 
complete  justification  of  the  desirabihty  of 
spending  laborious  days  and  nights  in  acquiring 
a  good  Enghsh  style,  an  adequate  means  of 
expression.  Mr.  Morris  himseK  has  it  when  he 
does  not  WTite  too  rapidly  and  when  he  is  en- 
gaged on  a  theme  which  really  pleases  him. 
And  he  got  it  from  masters  Hke  Stevenson,  not 
from  the  advice  of  brisk  and  businesslike  editors 
ofjperiodicals  with  immense  circulation.  The 
advice,  however,  of  such  editors  as  Henry  Mills 
Alden  of  Harper's  Magazine,  or  the  late  Richard 
Watson  Gilder  of  the  Century,  never  harmed, 
I  suspect,  any  contributor's  literary  style. 

[184] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

Turn  back  to  that  passage  from  Stevenson's 
The  Sire  de  Maletroifs  Door,  on  page  157,  and 
observe  the  minute  accuracy  and  fine  literary 
conscience  with  which  each  word,  each  phrase, 
is  chosen  and  is  set  in  its  proper  place.  Who, 
among  the  contributors  to  the  Saturday  Evening 
Post,  could  write  such  a  passage  to-day?  Or 
take  the  even  better  passage  from  Markheim 
which  describes  the  murderer's  consciousness 
of  his  surroundings  just  after  the  crime: 

Time  had  some  score  of  small  voices  in  that  shop, 
some  stately  and  slow  as  was  becoming  to  their  great  age; 
others  garrulous  and  hurried.  All  these  told  out  the 
seconds  in  an  intricate  chorus  of  tickings.  Then  the 
passage  of  a  lad*s  feet,  heavily  running  on  the  pavement, 
broke  in  upon  these  smaller  voices  and  startled  Mark- 
heim into  a  consciousness  of  his  surroundings.  He  looked 
about  him  awfully.  The  candle  stood  on  the  counter, 
its  flame  solemnly  wagging  in  a  draught;  and  by  that 
inconsiderable  movement,  the  whole  room  was  filled 
with  noiseless  bustle  and  kept  heaving  like  a  sea:  the  tall 
shadows  nodding,  the  gross  blots  of  darkness  swelling  and 
dwindling  as  with  respiration,  the  faces  of  the  portraits 
and  the  china  gods  changing  and  wavering  like  images 
in  water.  The  inner  door  stood  ajar,  and  peered  into 
that  leaguer  of  shadows  with  a  long  slit  of  daylight  like 
a  pointing  finger. 

Here  Stevenson  has  perhaps  gone  too  far  in 

[185] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

his  search  for  the  fresh  and  striking  phrase  — 
in  "solemnly  wagging,"  for  instance.  But  his 
final  simile,  ''hke  a  pointing  finger,"  is  mar- 
vellously adapted  to  his  purpose.  The  very 
vocabulary  of  such  a  passage  is  beyond  most 
of  our  modern  successful  writers  for  magazines. 
And  its  prose  rhythm  is  as  carefully  calculated 
and  as  pleasing  in  effect  as  its  diction.  Kip- 
Ung,  though  he  lacks  the  fine  finish  of  Stevenson, 
is  often  nearly  as  felicitous  in  expression.  His 
phrase,  in  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy,  expressing 
the  fear  of  a  husband  for  the  safety  of  his  loved 
ones,  is  perfection.  "The  most  soul-satisfying 
fear  known  to  man,"  he  calls  it.  Shakespeare 
himself  could  hardly  have  bettered  that. 

Take,  again,  that  memorable  passage  from 
Thackeray's  Henry  Esmond  ^  which  pictures 
Beatrix  Esmond  as  she  comes  down  the  stair- 
case: 

Esmond  had  left  a  child  and  found  a  woman,  grown 
beyond  the  common  height,  and  arrived  at  such  a  dazzling 
completeness  of  beauty  that  his  eyes  might  well  show 
surprise  and  dehght  at  beholding  her.  In  hers  there  was 
a  brightness  so  lustrous  and  melting  that  I  have  seen  a 
whole  assembly  follow  her  as  by  an  attraction  irresist- 
ible. .  .  .  Her  eyes,  hair,  and  eyebrows  and  eyelashes 
were  dark,  her  hair  curling  in  rich  undulations  and  waving 

^  Book  ii,  chap.  vii. 

[186] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

over  her  shoulders;  but  her  complexion  was  as  dazzling 
white  as  snow  in  sunshine,  except  her  cheeks,  which  were 
a  bright  red,  and  her  hps,  which  were  of  a  still  deeper 
crimson.  Her  mouth  and  chin,  they  said,  were  too  large 
and  full;  and  so  they  might  be  for  a  goddess  in  marble, 
but  not  for  a  woman  whose  eyes  were  fire,  whose  look 
was  love,  whose  voice  was  the  sweetest  low  song,  whose 
shape  was  perfect  symmetry,  health,  decision,  activity, 
whose  foot  as  it  planted  itself  on  the  ground  was  firm  but 
flexible,  and  whose  motion,  whether  rapid  or  slow,  was 
always  perfect  grace  —  agile  as  a  nymph,  lofty  as  a  queen 
—  now  melting,  now  imperious,  now  sarcastic :  there  was 
no  single  movement  of  hers  but  was  beautiful.  As  he 
thinks  of  her,  he  who  writes  feels  young  again,  and  re- 
members a  paragon. 

After  comparing  such  a  passage  with,  say,  a 
description  of  one  of  Gene  Stratton  Porter's 
latest  heroines,  or  Robert  W.  Chambers',  or 
Harold  Bell  Wright's,  will  anyone  have  the 
temerity  to  assert  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  classic.^  The  very  movement  and  melody 
of  Thackeray's  sentence  beginning,  "Her  mouth 
and  chin,  they  said,"  are  far  beyond  the  powers 
of  most  of  our  present-day  writers  of  fiction. 
And  the  way  in  which  he  individualizes  Beatrix 
is  a  lesson  to  those  who  have  only  one  type  of 
heroine,  on  which  they  play  numberless  varia- 
tions —  the  same  being  true  of  the  illustrators 
who  call  themselves  "artists." 

E187] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

How  is  it  that  Joseph  Conrad,  in  his  much- 
praised  story,  Heart  of  Darkness,  gains  his  re- 
markable effect  of  atmosphere  if  not  by  style  — 
by  remarkable  resources  of  expression?  The 
temptation  to  quote  without  limit  is  strong,  but 
I  content  myseK  with  one  passage  which  shows 
an  almost  perfect  adaptation  of  means  to  end. 
It  is  from  Conrad's  story.  The  Lagoon.^  I  have 
italicized  a  few  phrases  which  are  particularly 
felicitous: 

The  white  man  rested  his  chin  on  his  crossed  arms 
and  gazed  at  the  wake  of  the  boat.  At  the  end  of  the 
straight  avenue  of  forests  cut  by  the  intense  ghtter  of 
the  river,  the  sun  appeared  unclouded  and  dazzling, 
poised  low  over  the  water  that  shone  smoothly  like  a  band 
of  metal.  The  forests,  sombre  and  dull,  stood  motionless 
and  silent  on  each  side  of  the  broad  stream.  At  the  foot 
of  big,  towering  trees,  trunkless  nipa  palms  rose  from  the 
mud  of  the  bank,  in  bunches  of  leaves  enormous  and 
heavy,  that  hung  unstirring  over  the  brown  swirl  of  eddies. 
In  the  stillness  of  the  air,  every  tree,  every  leaf,  every 
bough,  every  tendril  of  creeper  and  every  petal  of  minute 
blossoms  seemed  to  have  been  bewitched  into  an  immo- 
bility perfect  and  final.  Nothing  moved  on  the  river  but 
the  eight  paddles  that  rose  flashing  regularly,  dipped  to- 
gether with  a  single  splash;  while  the  steersman  swept 
right  and  left  with  a  periodic  and  sudden  flourish  of  his 
blade  describing  a  glinting  semicircle  above  his  head. 
*  In  Tales  of  Unrest.  Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. 
[188] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

The  churned-up  water  frothed  alongside  with  a  confused 
murmur.  And  the  white  man's  canoe,  advancing  up 
stream  in  the  short-lived  disturbance  of  its  own  making, 
seemed  to  enter  the  portals  of  a  land  from  which  the  very 
memory  of  motion  had  forever  departed.  .  .  . 

Astern  of  the  boat  the  repeated  call  of  some  bird,  a 
cry  discordant  and  feeble,  skipped  along  over  the  smooth 
water  and  lost  itself,  before  it  could  reach  the  other  shore, 
in  the  breathless  silence  of  the  world.  .  .  . 

The  course  of  the  boat  had  been  altered  at  right  angles 
to  the  stream,  and  the  carved  dragon-head  of  its  prow 
was  pointing  now  at  a  gap  in  the  fringing  bushes  of 
the  bank.  It  glided  through,  brushing  the  overhanging 
twigs,  and  disappeared  from  the  river  like  some  slim  and 
amphibious  creature  leaving  the  water  for  its  lair  in  the 
forests. 

The  narrow  creek  was  like  a  ditch:  tortuous,  fabu- 
lously deep;  filled  with  gloom  under  the  thin  strip  of  pure 
and  shining  blue  of  the  heaven.  Immense  trees  soared 
up,  invisible  behind  their  festooned  draperies  of  creepers. 
Here  and  there,  near  the  glistening  blackness  of  the 
water,  a  twisted  root  of  some  tall  tree  showed  amongst 
the  tracery  of  small  ferns,  black  and  dull,  writhing  and 
motionless,  like  an  arrested  snake.  The  short  words  of 
the  paddlers  reverberated  loudly  between  the  thick  and 
sombre  walls  of  vegetation.  Darkness  oozed  out  from  be- 
tween the  trees,  through  the  tangled  maze  of  the  creepers, 
from  behind  the  great  fantastic  and  unstirring  leaves; 
the  darkness,  mysterious  and  invincible;  the  darkness 
scented  and  poisonous  of  impenetrable  forests. 

One  of  Kipling's  critics,  Professor  Henry  S. 

[189] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Canby,  complains  that  he  journahzed  the  short 
story  by  making  a  rehgion  of  emphasis,  and  of 
emphasis  without  enough  discrimination.  Kip- 
hng's  characters,  says  this  critic,  are  always 
''immensely  striking  people,"  his  phrases  are 
unusual,  even  eccentric  at  times.  But  Professor 
Canby  admits  that  he  is  a  master  of  the  specific 
word.  The  fact  is  that  Kipling,  both  in  phrase- 
ology and  in  character  work,  displays  a  trifle 
too  much  of  that  mere  cleverness  which  is  to-day 
accepted  by  too  many  editors  as  the  equivalent 
—  which  it  is  not  —  of  artistic  and  effective 
workmanship.  Kipling's  faultsT  have  proved 
easy  of  imitation,  but  his  power  of  expression 
and  his  insight  into  human  nature  cannot  easily 
be  reproduced. 

It  is  a  pretty  widely  accepted  canon  of  literary 
criticism  that  greatness  in  substance  and  great- 
ness in  style  go  together;  yet  it  must  be  admitted 
that  some  American  writers  of  fiction  really 
have  something  to  say  without  knowing  how  to 
say  it  adequately.  Among  certain  magazine 
writers  and  editors  there  is  altogether  too  evi- 
dent a  tendency  to  decry  college  education  and  to 
glorify  newspaper  training.  The  results  do  not 
justify  their  position.  The  success  of  even  the 
best  humorous  tales  in  the  popular  periodicals 

[190] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

depends  largely  upon  deftness  of  phrase.  This 
is  true  of  Harry  Leon  Wilson's  Saturday  Evening 
Post  serial,  Ruggles  of  Red  Gap,  Irvin  Cobb, 
in  his  humorous  articles,  is  often  much  too  glib 
and  journalistic,  but  he  reveals  a  far  better 
style  in  his  fiction.  The  Belled  Buzzard  has  real 
distinction.  It  was  written  in  the  atmosphere 
of  Edgar  Allan  Poe  rather  than  of  the  New 
York  World  —  on  which  Mr.  Cobb  used  to  be  a 
reporter. 

Of  Eleanor  Hallowell  Abbott  and  the  hys- 
terical style  I  shall  make  but  brief  mention. 
This  author  wrote  well  in  Molly  Make-Believe, 
but  has  since  acquired  a  habit  of  torturing  words 
and  phrases  which  constitutes  at  times  an  actual 
atrocity.  Eccentricity  by  shrieking  emphasis 
seems  to  be  her  goal  in  her  inferior  works.  Here 
is  a  sample  —  not  of  her  worst  —  from  a  rather 
good  story,  Man's  Place:  * 

"Ting-a-ling-Iing-ling!"  shrieked  the  Telephone. 

"Y-e-s?"  crooned  the  Bride. 

"Is  this  Mrs.  —  Mrs.  Frazer  Hartley?'*  worried  the 
Voice  in  the  Telephone. 

"It  is!"  boasted  the  Bride. 

"Um-m,"  faltered  the  Voice  in  the  Telephone. 
"Er-r-e-r,  that  is  to  say,  I  have  a  message  for  you  —  it's 
something  about  your  husband!" 

*  Good  Housekeeping,  January,  1915. 

[191] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

"Oh,  my  goodness!"  gasped  the  Bride.  "Has  any- 
thing happened  to  Fraz^r?  " 

Well,  whether  anything  has  happened  to 
Frazer  or  not,  something  evidently  has  hap- 
pened to  the  English  style  of  Eleanor  Hallowell 
Abbott  —  and  that  something  is  not  desirable. 
She  is  an  author  who  can  write  good  English 
when  she  will;  but  she  never  learned  this  style 
from  Shakespeare  and  the  Bible. 

Set  beside  such  a  passage  one  from  a  real 
artist,  WilUam  John  Hopkins,  author  of  that 
whimsically  delightful  novelette,  TJie  Clammer. 
The  following  is  from  his  short  story.  With  a 
Savour  of  Salt,  in  Harper's  Bazar:  ^ 

Nobody  said  much  on  the  way  out.  Marian  Wafer 
kept  her  thoughts  to  herself,  and  they  must  have  been 
pleasant  thoughts,  for  she  was  half  smiUng.  No  one 
would  have  needed  to  ask  Helena  and  Hannibal  what 
they  thought,  or  even  to  wonder.  It  was  written  on  their 
faces.  The  salt  breeze  was  in  their  nostrils,  and  they 
heard  all  the  Uttle  soft  sounds:  the  whishing  of  the  wind 
in  the  rigging  and  on  the  sails,  an  occasional  soft  cluck  of 
a  block  when  the  boat  rose  to  a  sea,  and  the  gentle  bub- 
bling and  hissing  of  the  water  as  she  drove  through  it. 

They  were  out  of  the  lee  of  the  land  now,  and  the 
seas  were  great  green  seas,  w^th  tops  that  curied  a  httle 
and  broke  in  spreading  rumbles  of  foam,  which  hissed 

»  September,  1915. 

[192] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

itself  away  while  the  seas  marched  on  majestically.  It 
did  not  seem  possible  that  anything  could  stop  those 
rolling  seas;   not  a  mere  shore. 

Another  excellent  passage  which  is  partic- 
ularly notable  for  its  figures  of  comparison  is  the 
following  from  the  opening  of  Brunt, ^  by  that 
conscientious  and  gifted  writer,  Fannie  Hurst: 

In  Spartan,  which  lies  Hke  a  picture-puzzle  between 
the  tawny  cornfields  and  the  smutty  coalfields  of  lUinois, 
the  rain-crow  flies  low  when  autumn  threatens,  croaking 
of  wet  days  and  chest  protectors,  of  nights  filled  with 
the  commotion  of  wind  and  leaves  flopped  wetly  against 
windowpanes  like  boneless  hands  tapping. 

Then,  and  oh,  so  surely,  come  the  melancholy  days 
themselves,  and  everybody's  picket-fenced-in  garden  turns 
to  mud  with  a  pull  to  it,  sucking  in  overshoes  and  oozing 
up  slipperily  over  the  plank  sidewalks.  Wagon  wheels 
slither  along  the  unmade  streets  as  if  cutting  through  cold 
grease.  Children,  rejoicing  in  double-session,  bob  home- 
ward an  hour  earlier  beneath  their  enveloping  umbrellas 
like  a  procession  of  low  mushrooms. 

This  is  so  carefully  wrought  and  so  successful 
in  attaining  precision  that  it  is  no  surprise  to 
learn  that  Miss  Hurst  writes  her  stories  very 
slowly.  Her  future  and  that  of  such  other 
young  artists  as  Donn  Byrne  will  be  watched 
with  great  interest  by  lovers  of  real  literature. 

^  Metropolitan,  June,  1916. 
[193] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

For  a  fine  maturity,  penetration,  and  sim- 
plicity, as  well  as  for  remarkable  vigor  and  di- 
rectness, nearly  all  living  American  writers  of 
fiction  must  yield  to  Gertrude  Atherton.  There 
is  no  pretty  ornamentation  in  her  work,  but  a 
good  deal  of  finish. 

It  is  worth  noting  that  in  the  end  some  of 
the  writers  most  sought  even  by  the  magazines 
of  largest  circulation  are  the  artists,  not  the 
merchants.  The  writer  without  a  Uterary  con- 
science and  a  literary  backbone  has  no  assured 
future.  It  is  to  the  men  and  women  who  have 
made  their  craft  a  fine  art  that  editors  and 
book  publishers  eventually  come  pleading  most 
earnestly  —  among  Americans,  to  such  writers 
as  Booth  Tarkington,  Edith  Wharton,  Gertrude 
Atherton,  Winston  Churchill,  Fannie  Hurst. 
Ten  years  ago  one  might  have  been  inclined  to 
add  to  this  list  the  name  of  Gouverneur  Morris. 
This  paragraph  is  respectfully  dedicated  to 
authors  who  are  grinding  out  serials  at  the  rate 
of  two  or  three  a  year. 

Even  the  apparently  eflEortless  naturalness  of 
Charles  E.  Van  Loan  —  who,  with  Booth  Tar- 
kington, Peter  B.  Kyne  and  several  others,  is 
sadly  underestimated  by  Mr.  Edward  J.  O'Brien 
in  his  Best  Short  Stories  of  1915  —  is  the  product 

[194] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

of  a  long  apprenticeship  rather  than  direct  in- 
spiration; and  the  same  is  true  of  the  spark- 
hng  satires  of  Freeman  Tilden.  In  both  these 
cases  one  may  perceive  that  style,  in  the  final 
analysis,  is  the  man  himself  —  although  no 
man  can  express  himself  adequately  without 
long  and  painful  study.  Mr.  Van  Loan's  praise- 
worthy naturalness  is  exhibited  in  almost  all 
of  his  work;  but  particularly  good  examples 
are  to  be  found  in  his  volume  of  short  stories. 
Buck  Parvin  and  the  Movies.  This  volume 
and  Peter  B.  Kyne's  Cappy  Ricks,  by  the  way, 
show  an  excellence  of  character  drawing  for 
which  one  often  looks  in  vain  in  writers  of  greater 
' '  literary ' '    reputation. 

The  style  of  Jack  London  and  Rex  Beach 
is  full  of  personality;  but  in  neither  case  is  it  a 
style  uniform  throughout  like  John  Galsworthy's. 
And  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim,  prolific  though  he 
is,  shows  himself  a  surer  craftsman  than  most 
Americans.  Strong  personality  alone  is  not 
enough.  One  of  the  best  examples  in  English 
literature  of  a  towering  personality  is  Jonathan 
Swift;  but  he  was  also  a  trained,  conscientious, 
and  therefore  remarkably  effective  writer.  Even 
in  his  inflammatory  pamphlets,  The  Drapier's 
Letters,  designed  to  arouse  the  Irish  populace 

[195] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

against  English  misrule,  there  is  a  distinction 
of  style  as  notable  as  its  absolute  clearness  and 
naked  simplicity.  The  most  ignorant  reader 
could  understand  it;  and  the  most  cultured 
could  admire  it.  This  is  the  ideal  of  a  style  for 
a  periodical  of  large  circulation.  Swift's  method 
of  testing  his  clearness  may  be  commended  to 
hterary  workers  who  desire  a  large  audience: 
he  admitted  to  his  final  version  of  a  manuscript 
no  word  or  phrase  which  his  domestic  servant 
failed  to  comprehend.  One  may  surmise  that 
he  regaled  her  only  with  selected  portions  as 
test  passages;  but  he  got  many  a  useful  hint 
thereby.  'Plainness  and  simplicity  are  not  in- 
compatible with  the  highest  hterary  art.  Cer- 
tain subjects,  however,  call  for  a  more  extensive 
vocabulary  and  a  more  subtle  vein  of  reflection 
than  the  uncultured  can  understand.  The 
"groundlings"  in  the  pit  never  got  the  benefit 
of  the  highest  flights  of  Shakespeare;  but  they 
got  enough  else  to  keep  them  interested. 

Let  a  writer,  at  any  rate,  be  himself.  There 
is  too  great  a  tendency  to-day  to  imitate,  more 
or  less  openly,  the  greatest  popular  magazine 
successes.  But  what  editors  want  most  is 
individuality.  Every  succeeding  year  proves 
that  there  is  no  sure  recipe  for  a  ''best-selling" 

[196] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

novel.  Some  new  writer  steps  in  with  a  new 
idea  and  a  new  style  and  carries  home  the  medal. 
Let  a  young  author  study  a  hundred  successful 
writers  of  fiction,  if  he  will,  but  let  him  remain 
true  to  himself.  ''No  mantle-of-O.-Henry  busi- 
ness, please,  in  advertising  my  work,"  remarked 
an  excellent  writer  of  humorous  tales.  And  he 
was  right. 

Perhaps  the  most  practical  result  of  the  ac- 
quirement of  a  good  English  style,  and  therefore 
the  one  best  worth  leaving  in  one's  mind,  is 
the  surprising  change  which  it  makes  in  the 
number  of  words  necessary  to  express  oneself 
clearly  and  effectively.  Good  style  implies 
economy  and  brevity.  It  is  only  the  great 
artist  like  Guy  de  Maupassant  who  finds  a 
2500-word  limit  congenial  in  the  short  story. 
The  amateur  always  finds  it  difficult  to  con- 
dense. It  was  Stevenson  who  said  that  the 
only  test  of  writing  that  he  knew  was  this: 
''If  there  is  anywhere  a  thing  said  in  two  sen- 
tences that  could  have  been  as  clearly  and  as 
engagingly  and  as  forcibly  said  in  one,  then  it's 
amateur  work." 

The  ability  to  write  without  waste  is  indeed 
the  final  goal  of  any  good  stylist  —  the  ability 
to  transfer  from  brain  to  paper  the  exact  im- 

[197] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

pression  recorded.  How  seldom  this  is  done 
may  be  judged  from  Gouverneur  Morris'  re- 
mark that  he  hkes  his  own  stories  best — ''until 
they  are  written."  To  lessen  the  escape  of 
precious  energy  is  the  object  of  all  ambitious 
craftsmen.  And,  whatever  the  average  editor 
may  say,  they  will  keep  ever  before  them  that 
vision  of  perfection  without  which  good  work 
is  impossible. 

EXERCISES 

1.  Point  out,  in  a  recent  issue  of  the  Saturday  Evening 
Post  or  Collier^ s,  fifteen  or  more  slang  phrases  in  the 
short  stories.  Point  out  a  similar  number  in  the  stories 
of  O.  Henry.  Then  apply  the  same  test  to  Bret  Harte's 
The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,  Stevenson's  Will  o'  the  Mill, 
and  Kipling's  The  Man  Who  Would  Be  King.  How  many 
slang  phrases,  if  any,  do  you  discover?  Find,  if  possible, 
in  O.  Henry's  stories  some  slang  which  has  already  passed 
out  of  use. 

2.  Copy  from  one  of  W.  W.  Jacobs'  humorous  tales 
at  least  ten  brief  phrases  which  show  felicity  of  expres- 
sion —  which  characterize  a  person,  or  a  situation,  or 
which  illustrate  description  of  any  sort. 

3.  Make  a  list,  from  one  of  Edith  Wharton's  stories, 
or  Kipling's,  or  O.  Henry's,  of  synonyms  or  variations  of 
"said,"  "replied,"  etc.,  in  the  dialogue.  Notice  also  to 
what  extent  dialogue  is  used  without  any  reference  to 
the  speakers.     When  this  is  clear,  it^  is  often  the  best 

[198] 


Style  and  the  Classics 

method  —  although    sometimes    "stage    directions'*    or 
indications  of  the  emotion  of  the  speaker  are  desirable. 

4.  Compare  Fannie  Hurst's  Power  and  Horsepower 
(in  Just  Around  the  Corner)  with  one  of  her  tales  in  this 
volume  written  in  Jewish  dialect.  Which  do  you  prefer, 
and  why?  Do  you  find  many  dialect  stories  in  current 
periodicals.'* 

5.  Point  out,  if  possible,  any  means  by  which  brevity 
is  secured  in  the  tales  of  Maupassant,  W.  W.  Jacobs, 
and  Stevenson.  Does  the  style  of  Stevenson  seem  to 
you  to  be  too  "literary"  for  the  average  magazine  reader? 
Mention  any  recent  stories  in  the  Saturday  Evening  Post 
which  seem  to  possess  finish  of  style.  About  what  pro- 
portion of  such  stories  do  you  find  in  the  Post?  In  any 
other  magazine  of  large  circulation? 

6.  Find  a  magazine  story  which  is  overweighted  with 
adjectives,  especially  in  pairs.  Compare  the  effect  with 
that  of  a  passage  from  Kipling  or  Stevenson  where  the 
nouns  and  verbs  are  more  noticeable  than  the  adjectives. 

7.  Select  from  a  page  of  a  short  story  by  Kipling, 
Stevenson,  W.  W.  Jacobs,  Maurice  Hewlett,  Joseph 
Conrad,  Poe,  or  Hawthorne  five  unusual  words  which 
seem  to  you  admirably  adapted  to  their  purpose.  Then 
see  how  many  such  words  you  can  select  from  a  page  by 
any  popular  magazine  writer. 

8.  Find  two  passages  in  Stevenson's  short  stories 
which  are  particularly  felicitous  in  sound-quality.  (See 
the  quotation  from  him  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.) 

9.  Copy  two  passages  from  Kipling,  one  of  which  is 
written  in  a  truly  literary  style  and  the  other  in  a  jour- 

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The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

nalistic   style  —  crisp,    breezy,    informal,    but    not   very 
polished.     Copy  two  similar  passages  from  O.  Henry. 

10.  Hazlitt  declared  that  whenever  he  misquoted 
Shakespeare  he  found  that  he  had  used  a  word  or  phrase 
inferior  to  the  original.  Try  this  yourself  by  partly 
memorizing  —  not  too  accurately,  for  this  purpose  —  a 
famous  passage  such  as  a  portion  of  one  of  the  soliloquies 
in  Hamlet  and  then  writing  it  down  and  comparing  it 
with  the  original.  (Such  a  word  as  the  one  italicized  in 
the  following  sentence  is  a  good  example  of  Shakespeare's 
fehcity :  "How  sweet  the  moonhght  sleeps  upon  this  bank! " 

11.  Select  from  three  famous  short-story  writers  three 
passages  which  differ  sharply  by  revealing  in  each  case 
the  personality  of  the  writer.  Comment  briefly  on  the 
personality  in  each  passage.  (Kipling,  O.  Henry,  Mau- 
rice Hewlett,  and  Stevenson  are  good  writers  to  examine 
for  this  purpose.) 

12.  Point  out,  in  a  passage  from  the  work  of  any  good 
short-story  writer,  the  specific  (as  contrasted  with  general) 
words.  How  many  abstract  words  do  you  find?  ^Tiy 
are  more  of  these  used  in  a  treatise  on  philosophy  than 
in  a  story? 

13.  A  good  style  is  nearly  uniform  in  texture  through- 
out; it  has  very  few  "purple  patches"  which  stand  out 
in  contrast  to  the  rest.  Copy  from  a  magazine  story  a 
short  passage  which  seems  notably  superior  to  what  pre- 
cedes and  follows.  A  few  lines  before  and  after  it  will 
have  to  be  copied  also,  in  order  to  show  the  contrast. 
(Thackeray  is  an  excellent  writer  to  study  for  uniformity 
of  style  —  and  for  a  wise  philosophy  of  life  as  well.) 

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Style  and  the  Classics 

14.  Point  out  a  passage,  preferably  at  the  opening  of 
a  story,  which  shows  almost  perfect  naturalness  of  style 
—  as  if  the  tale  were  being  "talked  off"  to  the  reader. 
(Sometimes  you  will  find  this  "naturalness"  associated 
with  considerable  carelessness.) 

15.  Do  you  find  any  differences  between  Thackeray's 
style  in  his  essays  and  that  in  his  novels?  Stevenson's.^ 
Poe's?  What  are  these  differences?  (Narrative  style 
should  generally  be  less  formal  and  in  a  certain  sense 
less  dignified  than  essay  style.) 

16.  Any  good  style,  particularly  in  narration,  shows  a 
free  use  of  figures.  Make  a  list,  from  a  page  by  any 
short-story  writer  of  genuinely  literary  reputation,  of 
the  figures,  especially  comparisons  (metaphor  and  simile). 

17.  In  the  following  passages  point  out,  in  the  case 
of  the  pairs  of  words  or  phrases  in  parentheses,  which  ones 
were  probably  used  by  the  author  and  why.  In  the  case 
of  a  single  word  or  phrase  in  parentheses  state  whether  it 
should  be  retained  or  omitted,  and  why.  This  test  may 
profitably  be  applied  by  an  instructor  to  several  pas- 
sages from  good  writers.  He  may  then  read  the  pas- 
sage as  the  author  wrote  it  and  explain  why  the  author's 
word  or  phrase  is  superior  to  the  one  substituted. 

A  little  after  sundown  the  full  fury  of  the  gale  broke  forth, 
such  a  gale  as  I  have  never  seen  in  summer,  nor,  (seeing  how 
swiftly  it  had  come)  (in  consideration  of  the  swiftness  with  which 
it  had  come),  even  in  winter.  Mary  and  I  sat  in  silence,  the 
house  (shaking)  (quaking)  overhead,  the  tempest  howling 
(outside)  (without),  the  fire  between  us  (hissing)  (sputtering) 
with  raindrops.  Our  thoughts  were  far  away  with  the  poor 
(devils)  (fellows)  on  the  schooner,  or  my  not  less  unhappy  uncle, 

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The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

(houseless)  on  the  promontory;  and  yet  (now  and  then)  (ever 
and  again)  we  were  startled  back  to  ourselves,  when  the  wind 
would  rise  and  (buffet)  (strike)  the  gable  like  (a  giant)  (a  solid 
body),  or  (all  of  a  sudden)  (suddenly)  fall  and  draw  away,  so 
that  the  fire  (leaped  into  flame)  (blazed  up)  and  our  hearts 
bounded  (in  our  sides).  Now  the  storm  (in  its  might)  would 
seize  and  shake  the  four  corners  of  the  roof,  roaring  like  Levia- 
than (does)  in  anger.  Anon,  in  a  lull,  cold  (gusts)  (eddies)  of 
tempest  moved  (shudderingly)  (like  a  ghost)  in  the  room,  lifting 
the  hair  upon  our  heads  and  passing  between  us  as  we  sat  (listen- 
ing). And  again  the  wind  would  break  forth  in  a  chorus  of 
(sad  noises)  (melancholy  sounds),  hooting  low  in  the  chimney, 
wailing  (gently,  like  the  notes  of  a  flute)  (with  flute-like  softness) 
round  the  house.  .  .  . 

Intervals  of  (dimness)  (a  groping  twilight)  alternated  with 
spells  of  (utter)  blackness;  and  it  was  impossible  to  trace  the 
reason  of  these  changes  in  the  (horrible  rapidity  of  the  flying 
clouds)  ikying  horror  of  the  sky).  The  wind  blew  the. breath 
out  of  a  man's  nostrils;  (the  whole  sky)  (all  heaven)  seemed  to 
thunder  overhead  like  (a  crashing  avalanche)  (one  huge  sail). 

Outside  was  a  wonderful  clear  (night  of  stars)  (starry  night), 
with  here  and  there  a  cloud  (or  two)  still  hanging,  last  (remains) 
(stragglers)  of  the  tempest.  It  was  near  the  (greatest  height) 
(top)  of  the  flood  (tide),  and  the  reefs  were  roaring  in  the  (wind- 
less) quiet  of  the  night  (undisturbed  by  any  wind).  Never, 
not  even  in  the  height  of  the  tempest,  had  I  heard  their  (noise) 
(song)  with  greater  awe.  Now,  when  the  winds  were  (gathered 
home)  (silent),  when  the  (ocean)  (deep)  was  dandling  itself 
back  into  its  (sleep  as  of  summer)  (summer  slumber),  and  when 
the  stars  (shed)  (rained)  their  (gentle)  light  over  land  and  sea, 
the  voice  of  these  tide-breakers  was  still  raised  for  (harm) 
(havoc).  They  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  a  part  of  the  world's  evil 
and  the  tragic  (side)  (facet)  of  life. 

[  202  ] 


CHAPTER  VI 

HOW  MAGAZINES  DIFFER 

It  is  doubtful  whether  those  who  aspire  to  a  finer 
literary  palate  than  is  possessed  by  the  vulgar  herd 
are  really  so  keenly  appreciative  as  the  innocent  reader 
of  published  remarks  might  suppose.  Hypocrisy  in 
matters  of  taste  —  whether  of  the  literal  or  metaphor- 
ical kind  —  is  the  commonest  of  vices.  —  Leslie 
Stephen,  Hours  in  a  Library. 

In  walking  down  Fleet  Street  the  other  day,  my 
eye  caught  the  title  of  a  book  standing  open  in  a  book- 
seller's window.  It  was — "On  the  necessity  of  the 
diffusion  of  taste  among  all  classes."  "All,"  I  thought 
to  myself,  *'my  classifying  friend,  when  you  have 
diffused  your  taste,  where  will  your  classes  be?  The 
man  who  likes  what  you  like,  belongs  to  the  same  class 
with  you,  I  think.  Inevitably  so.  .  .  .  You  get  hold 
of  a  scavenger  or  a  costermonger,  who  enjoyed  the 
Newgate  Calendar  for  literature,  and  *Pop  Goes  the 
Weasel'  for  music.  You  think  you  can  make  him 
like  Dante  and  Beethoven?  I  wish  you  joy  of  your 
lessons;  but  if  you  do,  you  have  made  a  gentleman  of 
him:  —  he  won't  like  to  go  back  to  his  costermonger- 
ing. "  —  John  Ruskin,  The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive. 

Although  there  is  a  certain  family  or  racial 
resemblance  among  fiction  magazines,  it  is  true 
of  several  of  the  most  successful  that  each  has 

[203] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

aimed  to  occupy  a  distinct  field.  They  have, 
of  course,  had  imitators.  The  imitations,  par- 
tial or  total,  of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  have 
been  legion;  but  it  has  held  its  colossal  circula- 
tion largely  by  sheer  merit  and  editorial  brains. 
The  Cosmopolitan  and  its  imitators  stand  pretty 
emphatically  for  what  has  come  to  be  known  as 
the  "sex  story"  —  that  is  to  say,  the  story  of 
passion  as  distinguished  from  the  story  of  love. 
Controversial  themes,  "problem"  stories  on 
love  and  marriage,  are  treated  with  countless 
variations,  most  of  them  very  minute.  After 
reading  such  periodicals  for  a  year,  les  jeunes 
filles  may  be  pardoned  for  coming  to  the  behef 
that  Ufe  must  be  just  one  unhappy  marriage 
after  another,  or  just  one  wave  of  sex  emotion 
after  another.  The  action  of  such  stories  tends 
to  take  place  chiefly  within  four  walls  rather 
than  in  the  healthful  oxygen  of  the  open  air. 
But  a  large  number  of  people  seem  to  hke  stories 
that  are  just  a  httle  naughty ;  and  so  authors  who 
in  their  early  years  used  to  write  pretty  well,  like 
Robert  W.  Chambers  and  Gouverneur  Morris, 
descend  and  give  the  pubUc  these  stories.  It  was 
Harper  s  Weekly,  I  believe,  that  printed  under  a 
full-page  portrait  of  Mr.  Chambers:  "He  used 
to  be  an  artist,  and  now  earns  $60,000  a  year." 

[204] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

The  mediocrity  which  sometimes  results  from 
marketing  names  rather  than  merit  can  hardly 
be  better  illustrated  than  by  almost  any  of  Mr. 
Chambers'  short  stories  in  Hearst's  during  1914- 
1915.  It  is  quite  safe  to  say  that  some  of  them 
would  never  have  been  accepted,  had  they 
been  written  by  an  unknown  author.  It  should 
be  added,  in  justice  to  the  Cosmopolitan,  that, 
in  its  short  stories  at  least,  some  effort  has 
recently  been  made  to  get  away  from  sex  sub- 
jects and  thus  secure  more  variety  and  sanity. 
This  tendency  is  best  exhibited  in  those  mirth- 
provoking  studies  of  irrepressible  boyhood,  the 
Penrod  tales,  by  Booth  Tarkington.  Not  even 
lavish  offers  of  gold,  apparently,  can  make 
Mr.  Tarkington  cease  to  be  an  artist.  Win- 
ston Churchill,  too,  writes  as  he  likes,  despite 
the  fact  that  his  serials  are  published  in  a  sex- 
story  periodical.  The  fact  is,  of  course,  that 
any  well-established  novelist  or  short-story  writer 
is  foolish  if  he  yields  to  editorial  demands  that 
fail  to  fit  his  best  talents.  In  the  long  run, 
he  is  likely  to  lose  both  money  and  reputation. 
But  the  beginner  must  certainly  bow  to  editors 
if  he  wishes  to  *'get  on  in  the  world."  The  best 
thing  he  can  do,  therefore,  is  to  study  a  pretty 
large  number  of  fiction  magazines  and  then  write 

[205] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

for  two  or  three  the  pohcy  of  which  is  most  favor- 
able to  the  development  of  his  special  abihty 
and  to  his  preferred  subjects. 

The  remark  of  one  editor  that  it  is  now  "past 
sex  o'clock"  in  the  magazine  world  may  be  true 
of  the  sex  story  in  its  most  objectionable  forms, 
particularly  the  "white-slave"  story;  but  the 
financial  success  of  certain  minor  magazines 
does  not  indicate  desertion  of  the  sex  field. ^ 
Unfortunately  it  is  the  frank  and  honest  studies 
of  sex,  without  the  allurement  of  tales  that 
deliberately  distort  the  facts  of  real  life,  which  are 
likely  to  be  rejected  by  "snappy"  and  businesshke 
editors.  One  such  story,  a  powerful  and  essen- 
tially unobjectionable  study  of  a  London  cour- 
tesan after  the  early  days  of  the  European  War, 
was  rejected  by  several  editors  before  its  accept- 
ance by  one  who  possessed  courage.  It  told  the 
truth  about  hfe  and  was  therefore  not  alluring. 
The  specialty  of  the  sex-story  periodicals  is  to 
give  young  people  wrong  ideas  about  hfe.  No 
story  can  be  immoral  which  portrays  human  life 
as  it  is — and  to  the  end.  Shakespeare  is  never 
immoral.  It  is  merely  his  language  that  seems 
coarse  to  our  prudish  generation  and  country. 

^  For  a  good  satire  on  the  sex  story,  see  Freeman  Tilden's  That  Night 
(in  the  volume  bearing  this  title),  or  Julian  Street's  Living  up  to  Letch- 
V30od  {Everybody's,  July,  1914). 

[206] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

Better  far  that  a  young  girl  should  read  Shake- 
speare in  an  unexpurgated  edition  than  many 
copies  of  a  modern  sex-story  periodical — better 
not  merely  for  her  literary  education  but  for  her 
morals. 

For  a  sex  story  that  is  really  beautiful  and 
inspiring,  turn  to  Eden  Phillpotts'  The  Secret 
Woman  among  novels  of  the  present  century, 
and  to  Maurice  Hewlett's  Quattrocentisteria  ^ 
among  short  tales  of  the  past  twenty-five  years. 
The  latter  is  historical,  dealing  with  the  painter 
Botticelli  and  a  beautiful  young  girl,  Simonetta. 
Great  literature  is  full  of  sex  themes  and  always 
must  be;  but  in  any  good  piece  of  literature 
these  themes  are  treated  with  nobility. 

In  contrast  to  the  ignoble  way  of  treating 
them,  exhibited  in  certain  contemporary  maga- 
zines, Irvin  Cobb's  inspiring  story.  The  Lord 
Provides,^  is  well  worth  mention.  It  depicts 
the  funeral  service  of  a  young  girl,  an  inmate 
of  a  house  of  ill  fame,  who  had  requested  that 
she  be  buried  from  a  church.  The  woman  who 
runs  the  house  comes  to  Judge  Priest  to  per- 
suade him  to  undertake  the  negotiations — 
which,   obviously,   were   likely   to   be   difficult. 

*  In  Earthvxyrh  out  of  Tuscany. 

*  Saturday  Evening  Post,  Oct.  9,  1915. 

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The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

The  judge  grants  her  request.  He  himself 
reads  the  Scripture  at  the  church,  Mrs.  Matilda 
Weeks,  a  lady  who  doesn't  observe  precedents 
but  makes  them,  plays  the  organ,  and  some  of 
the  leading  citizens  as  well  as  the  leading  sin- 
ners of  the  town  join  the  funeral  procession. 
The  man  who  prays  —  but  let  Mr.  Cobb  tell 
that : 

Then  Judge  Priest's  eyes  looked  about  him  and  three 
pews  away  he  saw  Ashby  Corwin.  It  may  have  been  he 
remembered  that  as  a  young  man  Ashby  Corwin  had 
been  destined  for  holy  orders  until  another  thing  — 
some  said  it  was  a  woman  and  some  said  it  was  whisky, 
and  some  said  it  was  first  the  woman  and  then  the  whisky 
—  came  into  his  life  and  wrecked  it  so  that  until  the  end 
of  his  days  Ashby  Corwin  trod  the  rocky  downhill  road 
of  the  profligate  and  the  waster. 

Or  it  may  have  been  the  look  he  read  upon  the  face  of 
the  other  that  moved  Judge  Priest  to  say: 

"I  will  ask  Mr.  Corwin  to  pray." 

At  that  Ashby  Corwin  stood  up  in  his  place  and  threw 
back  his  prematurely  whitened  head,  and  he  lifted  his 
face  that  was  all  scarified  with  the  blighting  flames  of 
dissipation,  and  he  shut  his  eyes  that  long  since  had 
wearied  of  looking  upon  a  trivial  world,  and  Ashby  Cor- 
win prayed.  There  are  prayers  that  seem  to  circle  round 
and  round  in  futile  rings,  going  nowhere;  and  then  again 
there  are  prayers  that  are  like  sparks  struck  off  from  the 
wheels  of  the  prophet's  chariot  of  fire,  coursing  their  way 

[  208  ] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

upward  in  spiritual  splendor  to  blaze  on  the  sills  of  the 
Judgment  Seat.  This  prayer  was  one  of  those  prayers 
that  burn. 

It  is  not  necessary,  at  any  rate,  for  a  periodi- 
cal to  be  dull  in  order  to  be  respectable.  The 
Saturday  Evening  Post  offers  proof  of  respect- 
ability without  dullness.  It  specializes  in  Amer- 
ican business  and  American  humor,  some  of  its 
most  popular  writers  in  the  former  field  being 
Edwin  Lefevre,  Will  Payne,  and  James  H. 
Collins;  and,  in  the  latter,  Irvin  S.  Cobb  and 
Samuel  G.  Blythe.  The  Post,  however,  does 
not  depend  wholly  or  perhaps  even  chiefly  upon 
fiction.  The  first  page  is  generally  occupied 
by  an  article.  And  a  good  deal  of  the  fiction 
is  full  of  the  atmosphere  and  wise  saws  of 
American  business.  The  "fictionized  article," 
too,  which  relates  in  confession  form,  and  anony- 
mously, some  adventure  in  industry  or  the 
like,  has  been  made  famous  by  this  enterprising 
periodical,  whose  editor,  George  Horace  Lori- 
mer,  has  real  ideas.  The  Post  is  edited  emphati- 
cally for  men.  Its  tone,  from  cover  to  cover, 
is  virile  —  though  plenty  of  women  find  it  inter- 
esting. Its  editorial  page,  owing  to  the  necessity 
of  placating  its  many  subscribers,  is  less  vigorous 
and  provocative  than  that  of  Collier's,  its  rival 

[209] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

in  the  five-cent  field;  but  it  is  amusing  to 
discover  how  many  New  York  editors  call  for 
stories  "of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  type." 
It  is  the  sincerest  flattery  that  this  periodical 
could  receive. 

Notable,  too,  is  the  strong  Western  atmos- 
phere in  the  Post,  The  breezy  confidence  of 
packing-house  Chicago  and  Kansas  City  is 
clearly  reflected  in  its  pages.  And  much  of 
its  best  fiction  has  an  out-of-doors  setting  on 
the  Far  Western  plains  or  desert.  Charles  E. 
Van  Loan,  Peter  B.  Kyne,  and  Eugene  Manlove 
Rhodes  are  full  of  the  spirit  of  the  West.  The 
truth  is  that  this  Western  spirit  is  much  more 
accurately  representative  of  the  genuine  Amer- 
ican spirit  than  the  more  conventional  feeling 
on  the  Eastern  seaboard.  In  no  other  American 
periodical,  at  any  rate,  is  there  so  much  per- 
sonality, so  much  unity  of  feeling  and  tone,  as 
in  the  Post,  And  this  is  due  to  the  fact  that  it 
represents  to  a  surprising  degree  the  personal 
ideas  and  standpoints  of  its  editor.  What  the 
pubUc  want,  however,  is  generally  what  Mr. 
Lorimer  wants  and  accepts;  for  he  is  a  typical 
American  business  man  of  the  desirable  kind. 
Don't  believe  an  editor  when  he  solemnly  as- 
sures you  that  he  doesn't  pick  material  in  ac- 

[210] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

cordance  with  his  personal  Ukings;  he  can't 
help  it.  And  the  worst  of  periodicals  is  that 
in  which  the  material  is  chosen  by  a  vote  of  four 
or  five  persons  rather  than  by  one  who  knows  his 
business.  Moral  for  magazine-owners:  Choose 
a  strong  editor  and  give  him  a  free  hand. 

Herbert  Quick,  himself  a  successful  editor, 
has  some  highly  interesting  and  valuable  re- 
marks on  these  points  in  his  article.  How  to 
Print  What  the  People  Want:  ^ 

The  editor  who  does  not  know  instantly  whether  the 
people  want  a  certain  story  or  not  is  adventuring  in  a 
field  for  which  he  is  not  fitted.  If  he  is  the  right  man  in 
the  right  place,  any  argument  on  the  matter  will  do  more 
harm  than  good. 

Such  an  editor  does  not  guess.  He  prints  the  thing 
which  pleases  him.  He  knows  that  what  pleases  him 
pleases  his  audience.  In  a  field  in  which  the  reason 
fails,  he  is  guided  by  something  which  in  his  own  domain 
is  far  more  trustworthy  than  reason  —  instinct.  .  .  . 

There  is  an  infallible  recipe  for  printing  what  the 
people  want.  It  is  to  secure  an  editor  with  universal 
sympathies,  and  leave  the  matter  to  him.  .  .  . 

My  three  men  with  the  editorial  natures  are  Benjamin 
Franklin,  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  Peter  Cooper.  .  .  . 
Nothing  human  was  alien  to  any  of  them.  No  manu- 
script possessing  interest  to  any  large  number  of  people 
would  have  failed  to  interest  any  of  them. 

1  Bulletin  of  the  Authors'  League  of  America,  December,  1915. 

[211] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

There  is  no  disputing  the  fact  that  we  Ameri- 
cans are  chiefly  a  commercial  nation,  with  a 
preference  for  a  certain  broad  rather  than  a 
refined  or  subtle  humor.  And  it  is  upon  this 
formula  that  the  Post  has  so  successfully  built 
up  its  circulation.  The  vogue  of  such  humorous 
serials  as  Harry  Leon  Wilson's  Ruggles  of  Red 
Gap  indicates  the  wisdom  of  the  Post's  editorial 
pohcies.  If  by  its  glorification  of  business  and 
money-making  it  tends  still  further  to  phihs- 
tinize  an  already  PhiUstine  nation,  that  is  regret- 
table; but  one  must  not  look  for  too  lofty  an 
ideal  in  a  highly  popular  periodical.  The  Post 
has  at  least  kept  its  skirts — or  trousers — clean. 
No  parent  need  be  afraid  to  leave  it  on  the 
table  for  the  growing  boys  and  girls  to  read. 

Some  magazines  edited  chiefly  for  men  illus- 
trate the  editors'  behef  that  men  care  less  for 
ornamental  (and  generally  unintelligent)  illus- 
trations than  do  women.  The  Popular,  Adven- 
ture, and  the  All-Story  Weekly  are  printed  on 
cheap  paper,  without  illustrations,  and  there- 
fore do  not  have  to  depend  upon  a  large  volume 
of  advertising  for  their  profits.  The  stories 
in  these  periodicals  are  largely  direct,  colorful 
tales  of  action  and  adventure,  many  with  a 
breezy  outdoor  atmosphere.     The  lumberman, 

[212] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

the  cowboy,  the  hunter  —  in  short,  the  ''men 
who  do  things" — bulk  large  in  them.  The  love 
motive,  though  not  absent,  is  generally  second- 
ary. Sentiment  frequently  gives  way  to  the 
worship  of  force  and  masculine  vigor.  In  the 
monthly  Bulletin  of  the  Authors'  League  of 
America  (May,  1915)  the  editor  of  the  Popular 
announces  that  his  "present  especial  needs" 
are  "stories  of  action,  written  from  a  man's 
point  of  view."  And  in  the  same  publication 
the  editor  of  Adventure  calls  for  "clean,  swift- 
moving  stories  with  well-drawn  characters.  No 
sex,  no  problems."  In  contrast  may  be  quoted 
the  request  of  a  periodical  which  shall  be  name- 
less, for  "stories  of  the  erotic  or  risque  type, 
without  vulgarity!''  Can  any  resourceful  writer 
fill  this  prescription? 

The  Popular  has  printed  many  excellent  base- 
ball and  prizefight  stories  by  Charles  E.  Van 
Loan,  and  some  vivid  and  convincing  tales  of 
wild  animals  by  Miss  Vingie  E.  Roe  —  which 
indicates  that  women  write  successfully  even 
for  [the  most  masculine  periodicals.  Many 
women  authors  will  be  found  also  in  the  Post, 
Indeed,  Miss  Agnes  C.  Laut  even  writes  business 
articles  for  it.  On  the  other  hand,  it  may  be 
mentioned  that  most  of  the  'editors-in-chief  of 

[213] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

women's  magazines  are  men.  On  the  whole 
it  may  be  said  that  a  woman  has  a  good  chance 
of  getting  a  story  accepted  by  any  man's  peri- 
odical, and  a  man  by  any  woman's  periodical. 
It  is  merely  a  matter  of  subject  and  point  of 
view. 

Good  love  stories  are  eagerly  sought  by  almost 
all  magazines;  likewise  good  mystery  and  detec- 
tive stories.  Arthur  B.  Reeve's  Craig  Kennedy 
tales,  which  have  been  printed  every  month  in 
the  Cosmopolitan  for  three  or  four  years,  furnish 
a  good  illustration  of  the  vogue  of  the  detective 
story.  An  uncommon  fund  of  inventiveness 
and  ingenuity  is  necessary  for  such  work,  but 
several  writers  have  had  at  least  fair  success 
with  it.  The  Sherlock  Holmes  tales  are,  of 
course,  the  modern  leaders  in  this  field.  They 
exhibit  a  much  higher  literary  art  than  Mr. 
Reeve's,  in  addition  to  a  stronger  popular  ap- 
peal. G.  K.  Chesterton  and  Melville  Davisson 
Post  have  also  had  notable  success  in  the  field 
of  the  mystery  tale. 

The  love  story,  as  distinguished  from  the 
sex  story,  is  the  type  of  narrative  having  most 
nearly  universal  appeal.  A  good  magazine 
aims  to  please  some  readers  by  certain  stories 
and  others  by  other  stories,  the  editor  beUeving 

[214] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

that  no  one  person  can  like  everything  in  any 
single  issue.  But  a  vivid  love  tale  that  rings 
true  wins  the  vote  of  all  readers  with  a  spark 
of  sentiment  left  in  them.  Such  is  Maria 
Thompson  Daviess'  charming  narrative,  The 
Poor  Dear,^  Two  of  the  most  human  of  Mau- 
passant's stories  and,  I  suspect,  most  welcomed 
by  American  readers,  are  a  beautiful  tale  of 
youthful  romance.  Moonlight,  and  a  story  of 
wedded  contentment  amid  the  simplest  sur- 
roundings on  a  lonely  island.  This  is  entitled 
Happiness;  and  it  is  one  of  the  best  expositions 
of  that  elusive  object  of  human  pursuit  which 
can  be  found  in  literature.  Both  these  stories 
may  be  had  in  an  English  translation,  in  the 
volume,  An  Odd  Number,  They  should  be  read 
by  all  persons  who  believe  that  Maupassant 
was  always  cold  and  unsympathetic. 

Kipling  and  Stevenson  largely  avoided  the 
love  motif  in  the  short  story,  and  attained  great 
popularity  notwithstanding.  And  a  young  au- 
thor, Donn  Byrne,  ventures  to  entitle  a  collec- 
tion of  his  spirited  tales,  Stories  Without  Women, 
In  the  short  story,  certainly,  the  love  element 
is  not  so  important  as  in  the  novel,  nor  is  there 
space  for  so  satisfactory  a  development.     Yet 

1  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  August,  1916. 
[215] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

in  short  fiction  as  well  as  in  long  it  is  true  that 
"many  waters  cannot  quench  love." 

The  purely  sentimental  —  sentiment  for  which 
there  is  no  adequate  basis  and  which  upon 
analysis  is  often  seen  to  be  absurd  —  is  wel- 
comed in  many  women's  magazines,  particularly 
the  Ladies'  Home  JournaL  This  chocolate- 
caramel  type  of  fiction  is  at  least  harmless,  as 
a  rule,  and  is  the  clue  to  the  success  of  many  a 
"  best-selling  "  novel.  The  Woman's  Home  Com- 
panion, Good  Housekeeping,  and  the  Pictorial 
Review  also  print  a  pretty  sizable  amount  of 
this  "sweet"  type  of  short  story  and  serial. 
I  am  tempted  to  say  that  a  better  indication 
of  what  kind  of  fiction  appeals  to  the  average 
woman  versus  what  appeals  to  the  average 
man  could  hardly  be  gained  than  by  comparing 
several  issues  of  the  Ladies*  Home  Journal 
with  several  of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  — 
which,  however,  be  it  remembered,  depends 
upon  articles  quite  as  much  as  upon  fiction  for 
popularity.  And  the  large  circulation  of  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal  seems  to  be  due  chiefly 
to  its  many  departmental  articles  rather  than 
to   its   fiction. 

The  most  significant  distinction  between  peri- 
odicals is  probably  that  between  the  old  thirty- 

[216] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

five-cent  conservatives,  like  Harper's  and  the 
Century,  and  the  avalanche  of  fifteen-cent,  ten- 
cent,  five-cent,  and  now  even  three-cent  peri- 
odicals which  the  past  twenty-five  years  have 
produced.  The  best  story  of  the  month  is 
now  likely  to  appear  in  any  one  of  a  dozen  maga- 
zines. A  few  notable  writers  remain  faithful 
to  the  undoubtedly  more  intelligent  audience 
of  the  thirty-five-cent  magazine;  but  most 
writers  have  been  tempted  away  by  higher 
prices.  It  is  only  a  kind  of  snobbery  in  criti- 
cism to  maintain  that  the  short  stories  in  the 
old  magazines  are  vastly  superior  to  those  in 
the  new.  With  such  literary  artists  as  Joseph 
Conrad,  W.  W.  Jacobs,  and  Rudyard  Kipling 
writing  short  fiction  for  the  fifteen-cent  Metro- 
politan,  Mary  Wilkins-Freeman  for  the  Pictorial 
Review  and  the  Woman's  Home  Companion,  and 
dozens  of  other  deft  literary  workmen  for  dozens 
of  other  low-priced  periodicals,  it  must  be  clear  to 
all  but  the  hopelessly  prejudiced  that  the  "old 
guard"  no  longer  have  a  monopoly  of  the  best 
fiction,  or  even  a  large  share  of  it.  They  still 
have  the  best  of  a  highly  intellectual  type,  it  is 
true,  for  these  do  not  appeal  to  a  wide  audience 
and  would  not,  therefore,  be  acceptable  to  a 
periodical  of  large  circulation — 300,000  or  more. 

[217] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

It  is  worth  noting  also  that  Joseph  Conrad's 
novel.  Victory,  was  published  complete  in  one 
issue  of  Munsey's,  and  that  Gertrude  Atherton's 
Mrs.  Balfame,  a  masterly  study  of  a  murder 
mystery,  ran  serially  in  the  Blue  Book.  Verily, 
traditions  are  rapidly  being  shattered.  The 
cheap  magazines  are  being  invaded  by  real 
hterature!  Authors  who  twenty  or  even  ten 
years  ago  wrote  only  for  Harper's,  Scribner's, 
the  Century,  and  the  Atlantic  now  write  also  — 
or  in  some  cases  exclusively  —  for  periodicals 
which  cost  readers  less  but  pay  writers  more. 
The  magic  of  the  advertising  columns  is  re- 
sponsible  for   this. 

Naturally,  with  the  increase  of  the  democratic 
periodicals,  a  new  range  of  subjects  has  become 
popular.  We  no  longer  hear  so  much  about 
the  *'four  hundred,"  but  more  about  the  "four 
milhon."  (See  O.  Henry's  volume  with  this 
title.)  Modern  democratic  criticism  of  Shake- 
speare, by  the  way,  is  directed  against  the  un- 
conscious snobbery  of  his  continual  celebration 
of  kings  and  princes.  In  the  up-to-date  peri- 
odical, however,  the  life  of  the  manicure  girl 
and  the  department-store  employee  —  the  latter 
frequently  of  the  Jewish  race  —  has  been  chron- 
icled with  minute  fidelity  and  no  little  literary 

[218] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

skill  by  Fannie  Hurst  and  other  authors.  A 
good  many  imitations  of  her  work  have  come 
to  the  present  writer  in  manuscript.  Much  as 
the  "cultivated"  reader  may  dishke  the  dialect 
and  habits  of  Miss  Hurst's  characters,  he  must 
admit  that  she  has  made  very  human  figures 
of  them.  And  such  passages  as  her  comparison 
of  Fifth  and  Sixth  Avenues,  New  York  City, 
in  The  Spring  Song,^  reveal  power  of  expression 
which  no  magazine  writer  would  be  ashamed  to 
claim: 

One  city  block,  and  a  social  chasm  deeper  than  the 
city  block  is  long,  separate  the  shiny  serge  of  Sixth  Avenue 
from  the  shiny  silk  of  Fifth  Avenue.  The  tropic  between 
the  Cancer  of  Sixth  Avenue  and  the  Capricorn  of  Fifth 
is  an  unimaginary  line  drawn  with  indelible  pencil  by 
trusts  and  tailors,  classes  and  masses,  landlords  and 
lords  of  land. 

Such  a  line  drawn  through  a  marble-fagaded,  Louis- 
Quinze,  thousand-dollars-a-month  establishment  on  Fifth 
Avenue  would  enter  the  back  door  of  a  thirty-three- 
doUars-thirty-three-and-one-tliird-cents-a-month  shop  on 
Sixth  Avenue  and  bisect  the  lowest  of  the  three  gilt  balls 
suspended  above  the  entrance. 

A  mauve-colored  art  dealer's  shop,  where  thirty  canvas 
inches  of  Corot  landscape  rivaled  in  price  thirty  golden 
feet  of  Fifth  Avenue  acreage,  rubbed  shoulder-blades 
and  ash  cans  with  Madam  Epstein's  Sixth  Avenue  Em- 

1  Saturday  Evening  Post,  May  23,  1914. 
[219] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

porium  —  Slightly  Used  Gowns.  The  rear  of  the  De- 
Luxe  Hotel,  eight  dollars  a  day  and  up,  backed  so  im- 
minently on  the  rear  of  the  Hoffheimer  Delicatessen  Shop 
that  Mrs.  HofiPheimer's  three-for-five  dill  pickles  and 
three-for-fifteen  herrings  exchanged  raciness  with  the 
quintessence  of  four-doUars-a-portion  diamondback  ter- 
rapin and  attar  of  redheaded  duckling. 

Thus  the  city's  million  dramas  are  crowded  into  a 
million  crowded  theaters.  The  society  comedy  drinks 
tea  round  the  comer  from  the  tenement  tragedy  of  a 
child  being  bom  with  no  name  and  a  crooked  back;  a 
flat-breasted  Hedda  Gabler,  with  eyes  as  meaningless  as 
glass,  throws  herself  before  the  black  rush  of  a  Subway 
train;  and  within  that  same  train  a  beardless  juvenile 
shps  his  hand  into  the  muff  of  the  blonde  ingenue  beside 
him,  and  at  the  meeting  of  finger  tips  their  blood  dances 
to  a  whole  orchestra  of  emotions. 

In  the  third-floor,  nine-room  de-luxe  suite  of  the  De- 
Luxe  Hotel,  Madame  Lina  Feraldini,  famous  diva,  abroad 
on  her  sixth  farewell  tour,  juggled  coloratura  trills  that 
were  as  fanciful  as  iridescent  bubbles  blown  upward  from 
a  soap  pipe.  In  the  delicatessen  shop,  across  the  figura- 
tive chasm,  Mrs.  Hoffheimer  plunged  a  large  workaday 
arm  elbow  deep  into  a  barrel  of  brine  and  brought  up  three 
warty  pickles,  whitish  with  rime  and  dripping  wet. 

Another  very  democratic  writer  who  has  had 
a  huge  popular  success  is!  Montague  Glass, 
in  his  Potash  and  Perlmutter  tales  —  vivid  and 
racy  studies  of  the  Jewish  garment  trade  and 
the   men   engaged   in   it.     These   stories   have 

[220] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

proved  great  circulation-getters  for  the  Post; 
and  their  success  in  dramatized  form  has  been 
notable  both  in  America  and  in  England.  It 
is  almost  the  kind  of  work  that  Dickens  might 
have  done,  had  he  written  the  modern  short 
story.  Mr.  Glass's  shrewd  insight  into  the 
little  tricks  of  American  business  and  into  the 
leading  traits  of  the  Jewish  character  is  far 
above  the  mediocrity  which  the  average  maga- 
zine story  exhibits.  He  has  followed,  consciously 
or  unconsciously,  Flaubert's  advice  to  Mau- 
passant and  has  individualized  every  figure 
on  his  canvas.  Some  very  creditable  imitations 
of  his  work  have  appeared  in  the  minor  maga- 
zines; and  many  less  creditable  have  been 
read  by  the  present  writer  in  manuscript.  Most 
of  them  lack  the  humor  and  the  searchlight 
vividness  of  character  portrayal  shown  by  Mr. 
Glass.  The  Jewish  stories  of  Bruno  Lessing 
are  greatly  inferior  in  both  respects. 

One  of  the  most  curious  conventions  of  the 
magazine  short  story  is  the  rather  rigid  stand- 
ardization of  length.  Five  thousand  words 
has  come  to  be  the  average  length,  with  a  range, 
however,  from  3,000  to  7,000  and  occasionally 
(in  a  two-part  story)  10,000  or  even  15,000. 
The  Post,  it  should  be  added,  not  infrequently 

[221] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

prints  a  story  of  9,000  words  in  one  issue. 
These  limits  make  short-story  technique  some- 
what diflficult  for  the  beginner  and  subject  him 
to  what  seems  cruel  amputation  and  condensa- 
tion by  ruthless  editors.  But  the  blue  pencil 
is  good  for  his  soul  —  as  he  soon  learns. 

The  new  writer's  chance  is  of  course  much 
better  in  the  minor  magazines  than  in  those  of 
the  greatest  circulation,  just  as  the  young 
baseball  pitcher  generally  has  to  work  his  way 
up  from  the  "bush  leagues."  The  Saturday 
Evening  Post,  however,  introduces  a  dozen  or 
more  new  writers  of  short  stories  every  year. 
Much  the  same  is  true  of  the  Popular,  McClure's, 
Collier  s,  the  Red  Book,  the  American  and  sev- 
eral other  high-class  periodicals,  including  (partly 
from  inabiUty  to  pay  high  prices)  the  revered 
' '  thirty-five-centers . "  Some  of  these  new  writers 
succeed  in  getting  only  one  story  apiece  accepted 
by  the  Post  during  a  year;  but  others  become 
regular  contributors.  The  Smart  Set  used  to 
uncover  many  new  fiction  writers  of  promise; 
and  that  genial  and  keen-eyed  discoverer,  Robert 
H.  Davis  —  better  known  as  "Bob"  Davis  — 
of  the  Munsey  magazines,  has  brought  forward 
many  a  newcomer  who  has  later  risen  to  fame 
and  prosperity.     There  is,  after  all,  no  reward 

[222] 


Haw  Magazines  Differ 

comparable  to  the  joy  of  discovery,  whether 
the  object  is  the  North  Pole  or  only  a  fresh  and 
original  short  story.  Keats  has  sung  this  joy 
in  a  famous  sonnet: 

"Then  felt  I  like  some  watcher  of  the  skies. 
When  a  new  planet  swims  into  his  ken." 

The  young  writer  may  be  sure  that,  if  he  has 
unusual  promise,  too  many  editors  are  looking 
for  him  to  admit  any  possibihty  of  his  being 
slighted.  But,  except  in  magazines  that  pay 
little,  he  must  not  expect  to  crowd  out  the 
established  authors  easily. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  present  high 
prices  paid  for  the  short  stories  and  serials  of 
famous  authors  are  absurdly  in  excess  of  the 
real  value  of  the  stories.  This  is  due  to  the 
furious  competition  of  the  leading  magazines. 
Probably  the  Hearst  magazines  are  most  directly 
responsible  for  raising  prices  to  this  artificially 
high  level.  By  putting  authors  under  contract 
to  produce  short  stories  and  serials  for  his  maga- 
zines exclusively  for  a  period  of  from  three  to 
five  years,  Mr.  Hearst  has  obtained  some  of 
the  best-known  names.  But  it  is  a  question 
whether,  in  the  end,  such  a  policy  can  be  finan- 
cially most  profitable  —  especially  during  periods 

[223] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

of  business  depression.  Moreover,  it  relaxes 
the  mental  fiber  of  the  average  writer  to  be  under 
contract  instead  of  having  to  submit  his  work 
for  approval.  The  Post,  at  any  rate,  which 
has  declined  to  follow  the  Hearst  policies,  has 
had  no  difficulty  in  maintaining  a  circulation  of 
two  milhon  copies  in  contrast  to  the  Cosmo- 
politan's one  milhon. 

The  average  price  paid  by  a  high-class  peri- 
odical for  a  good  short  story  by  a  new  writer 
is  from  $75  to  $300.  Magazines  of  smaller 
circulation  may  pay  only  from  $40  to  $60. 
These  prices  are  based  on  an  average  limit  of 
5,000  words.  The  best-known  writers  may, 
and  often  do,  command  from  $1,000  to  $1,500, 
and  in  a  few  cases  even  more.  Such  prices 
did  not  exist  ten  years  ago;  and  it  may  prove 
difficult  to  maintain  them.  As  a  result  of 
unrestricted  competition,  however,  they  may 
profitably  be  compared  with  prices  of  some 
necessities  of  hfe  which  the  public  have  to  pay 
as  a  result  of  trusts  and  monopohes. 

Many  magazines,  in  addition  to  holding  their 
news-stand  buyers  —  who  in  some  cases  greatly 
outnumber  the  direct  subscribers  —  through  se- 
rials with  strong  suspense,  have  also  adopted 
the  series  idea  in  the  short  story.     Arthur  B. 

[224] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

Reeve,  George  Randolph  Chester,  Montague 
Glass,  Booth  Tarkington,  Melville  Davisson 
Post,  Edna  Ferber,  Charles  E.  Van  Loan,  and 
Fannie  Hurst  are  only  a  few  among  those  who 
have  rendered  editors  valuable  service  in  this 
field.  The  policy  of  the  most  successful  peri- 
odicals is  to  keep  the  public  looking  for  more 
work  by  favorite  authors. 

In  general,  book  collections  of  short  stories 
are  looked  at  askance  by  publishers.  They  do 
not  ordinarily  prove  profitable  —  and  in  most 
cases  they  do  not  have  the  literary  finish  that 
deserves  preservation  between  the  covers  of  a 
book.  The  average  short  story  serves  its  pur- 
pose if  it  merely  entertains.  It  is  not  a  matter 
of  great  concern  to  the  magazine  editor  whether 
it  is  forgotten  a  month  after  it  is  printed.  But 
ambitious  writers  generally  strive  to  produce 
something  that  shall  have  at  least  a  measure  of 
permanence.  Booth  Tarkington's  Penrod  tales 
well  deserve  their  preservation  in  book  form. 

Certain  magazines  differ  from  one  another 
so  greatly  in  their  policies  that,  if  a  short  story 
is  refused  by  one,  it  is  frequently  no  indication 
that  it  will  not  be  accepted  by  another  with  an 
equally  large  circulation.  In  one  case  a  senti- 
mental love  story  with  the  inevitable  charming 

[225] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

stenographer  and  the  rich  employer  was  refused 
by  the  Smart  Set  and  accepted  by  the  Ladies' 
Home  Journal,  In  the  Bulletin  of  the  Authors' 
League,  abeady  referred  to,  the  Smart  Set 
announces  that  it  desires  fiction  "deahng  with 
well-educated  and  sophisticated  persons." 

A  short  story  with  slow  movement  and  subtle 
character  analysis  might  be  refused  by  the 
Saturday  Evening  Post  and  accepted  by  Har- 
per's, Literary  finish  would  have  more  weight, 
too,  with  the  editor  of  Harper's  or  Scribner's 
than  with  the  editor  of  the  Post.  The  present 
writer  happens  to  know  that  a  strong  and  sin- 
cere sex  story  was  refused  by  the  Cosmopolitan 
—  presumably  because  the  author  was  not 
famous  enough  —  and  accepted  by  the  Post. 
Evidently,  ''you  never  can  tell."  If  you  have 
faith  in  your  story,  it  pays  to  try  at  least  a 
dozen  magazines  —  better,  two  dozen  —  before 
concluding  that  it  is  unsalable.  An  excellent 
love  story  (but  not  a  sex  story)  was  refused  by 
a  sex-story  periodical  and  accepted  by  Collier's. 
An  admirable  story  of  the  patent-medicine  evil, 
rejected  by  Good  Housekeeping,  was  taken  by 
the  Post,  A  fine  character  study  by  a  pretty 
well  known  author  failed  to  please  the  editor 
of  Harper's  Bazar  but  was  printed  in  Harper's 

[226] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

Magazine,  Another  was  refused  by  the  Smart 
Set  and  accepted  by  the  Century,  A  series  of 
stories,  powerfully  and  brilliantly  written  but 
devoid  of  love  interest,  was  reluctantly  returned 
by  a  sex-story  magazine  of  large  circulation  and 
found  a  place  in  McClure's  —  which,  however, 
rejected  a  tale  of  some  distinction  that  was  later 
printed  in  the  Pictorial  Review,  A  short  serial, 
with  a  romantic  love  element,  which  was  refused 
by  Good  Housekeeping  was  accepted  by  the 
Ladies'  Home  Journal  and,  when  printed,  was 
introduced  by  an  enthusiastic  editorial  note. 
An  excellent  humorous  story,  with  a  newspaper 
atmosphere,  which  proved  unsuited  to  one  of 
the  periodicals  of  largest  circulation  was  taken 
by  Scribner's,  These  little  things  simply  add 
the  fascination  of  uncertainty  to  the  game  of 
trying  to  please  editors.  For  obvious  reasons, 
I  have  omitted  the  names  of  the  authors  and 
the  titles  of  the  stories. 

Often  a  theme  which  seems  to  one  editor  too 
unpleasant  is  welcomed  by  another.  Some  of 
the  stories  of  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman  are 
voted  drab  and  depressing  by  readers  of  the 
highly  popular  magazines;  but  the  editor  of 
Harper's  does  not  fear  their  effect  on  his  intelli- 
gent pubhc.     Is  a  good  story  about  a  defective 

[227] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

child  undesirable,  no  matter  how  good?  May 
a  physically  deformed  person  be  introduced 
successfully  into  a  short  story  as  its  hero?  Can 
a  poorhouse  scene  be  made  inspiring?  Upon 
such  questions  the  editorial  fraternity  will  show 
no  general  agreement. 

One  editor  states  that  a  tale  intended  for  his 
magazine  need  not  have  the  conventional  happy 
ending,  "if  the  story  is  striking."  The  happy 
ending  is,  to  inteUigent  persons,  an  absurd 
convention.  Yet  even  Kipling  altered  the  som- 
bre close  of  The  Light  That  Failed,  for  dra- 
matic presentation.  The  average  person,  at 
whom  periodicals  with  large  circulations  are 
aimed,  dishkes  with  a  purely  childish  dislike 
any  mihappy  ending,  however  logical  and  in- 
evitable. He  prefers  to  have  life  falsified  for 
his  delectation;  and,  being  the  buyer,  he  gets  his 
wish.  Compare  the  department-store  motto: 
"The  customer  is  always  right." 

EXERCISES 

1.  What  general  difference  in  the  kind  of  society 
treated  do  you  find  in  Harper's  (or  Scribner's)  as  com- 
pared with  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  (or  the  Ladies* 
Horne  Journal)?  What  general  difference  in  the  lit- 
erary style  is  shown  in  the  short  stories  in  these  maga- 


How  Magazines  Differ 

zines?    Is  there  any  American  magazine  which  you  read 
especially  for  its  Hterary  quality? 

2.  Compare  an  issue  of  the  Post  with  one  of  the 
Cosmopolitan,  with  respect  to  subjects  for  short  stories. 
Do  you  find  the  atmosphere  of  American  business  life 
reflected  in  the  latter  magazine?  Domestic  life?  Mar- 
riage problems?  In  what  respects  is  the  Post  sharply 
differentiated  from  the  Cosmopolitan?  Do  you  find  as 
much  difference  between  the  Post  and  Collier's?  What 
authors  write  for  both  the  Post  and  the  Metropolitan? 
The  Post  and  Collier's?  The  Post  and  Harper's?  (The 
list  of  authors  and  stories  in  The  Best  Short  Stories  of 
1915  gives  data  for  this.) 

3.  Do  you  find  any  evidence  that  it  is  necessary  for 
a  periodical  to  print  some  stories  that  are  salacious,  in 
order  to  obtain  a  large  circulation?  Which  do  you  con- 
sider the  cleanest  and  safest  magazines  for  family 
reading? 

4.  Among  the  following  magazines,  which  seem  to 
favor  brisk  action  and  a  so-called  "punch"  at  the  close, 
and  which  prefer  a  quieter  type  of  story,  with  emphasis 
on  genuine  character  portrayal  and  some  finish  of  style? 
—  Harper's,  All-Story  Weekly,  Pictorial  Review,  Adven- 
ture, Popular,  Atlantic,  Metropolitan,  Red  Book,  Century. 
(In  some  cases  you  may  find  it  hard  to  draw  a  line,  for 
stories  of  both  types  appear  in  certain  periodicals.) 

5.  What  are  the  differences  in  the  character  of  the 
fiction  in  a  typical  woman's  magazine,  such  as  the  Ladies' 
Home  Journal,  and  a  typical  man's  magazine,  such  as 

[229] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

the  Saturday  Evening  Post?  Compare,  on  this  score,  the 
Woman  s  Home  Companion  with  Collier's;  Good  House- 
keeping with  the  Popular, 

6.  Which  periodicals  print  most  humorous  stories? 
Which  print  the  best  ones?  Which  are  most  addicted  to 
extremely  sentimental  love  stories? 

7.  In  what  magazine  or  magazines  do  the  short 
stories  of  W.  W.  Jacobs  appear?  Margaret  Deland? 
Booth  Tarkington?  Irvin  S.  Cobb?  Katharine  Fuller- 
ton  Gerould?  Joseph  Conrad?  Conan  Doyle?  John 
Galsworthy?  Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman?  Gouverneur 
Morris?  Rudyard  Kipling?  Peter  B.  Kyne?  Corra 
Harris?  Melville  Davisson  Post?  Donn  Byrne?  Mon- 
tague Glass?  Edith  Wharton?  Fannie  Hurst?  Charles 
E.  Van  Loan?    Freeman  Tilden? 

8.  -What  periodicals  do  not  always  insist  on  a  "happy 
ending*'  for  a  short  story?  WTiat  ones  seem  to  allow  an 
author  most  freedom  as  to  subjects  and  methods? 

9.  Point  out  two  magazines  which  seem  to  you  to 
show  most  variety  of  contents  and  two  which  show 
least  variety. 

10.  Mention  three  or  more  magazines  which  print 
stories  that  you  consider  trashy.  Give  reasons  for  your 
opinions. 

11.  What  magazine  writers  have  had  their  short 
stories  printed  in  book  form?  Do  you  consider  all  of 
these  superior  to  the  stories  of  authors  whose  work  has 
not  been  thus  collected? 

[230] 


How  Magazines  Differ 

12.  Is  great  popularity,  in  the  case  of  magazine  stories, 
inconsistent  with  Hterary  permanence?  What  estimate 
do  you  place  upon  the  intelligence  and  taste  of  the  aver- 
age American  reader  of  periodicals? 

13.  Is  there  any  living  writer  of  short  stories  whom 
you  consider  equal,  or  nearly  equal,  as  a  literary  artist, 
to  Poe  or  Maupassant  or  Stevenson?  Give  reasons  for 
your  opinion. 

14.  What  periodicals  print  stories  that  require  con- 
siderable thought  on  the  part  of  the  reader?  Have  you 
learned  anything  practical  about  human  life  and  human 
nature  from  any  magazine  stories? 

15.  Which  do  you  consider  the  best  ten  American 
magazines  that  print  fiction?    The  worst  five?     Why? 

16.  Do  you  think  that  American  novels  exhibit  higher 
literary  art  than  American  short  stories?  Why,  or  why 
not? 

17.  Compare  (if  you  can  obtain  a  copy)  an  issue  of 
the  British  edition  of  the  Strand  with  an  issue  of  the 
Saturday  Evening  Post  and  one  of  the  Pictorial  Review, 
in  order  to  study  the  differences  between  British  and 
American  taste  in  fiction.  Do  you  prefer  the  Strand 
stories?     Why,  or  why  not? 

18.  Keep  a  list,  for  six  months,  of  the  magazine  stories 
which  have  pleased  you  most;  and  jot  down,  in  each  case, 
a  briefly  expressed  reason. 

19.  Make  a  list  of  the  subjects  —  love,  mystery,  busi- 
ness, outdoor  adventure,  the  supernatural,  etc.,  —  in  one 

C  231  ] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

issue  of  Harper^s,  Good  Househeejpingy  Saturday  Evening 
Post,  Metropolitan y  and  Scribner^s.  Then  make  a  list  of 
the  subjects  in  one  or  more  of  these  periodicals  in  a  bound 
volume,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  editor's  policy. 

20.  In  an  issue  of  the  Century,  American,  Saturday 
Evening  Post,  McClure*s,  Harper*s,  Popular,  or  Collier*s, 
compare  a  story  by  a  new  writer  with  one  by  a  famous 
writer.  Which  do  you  consider  the  better  story,  and 
why.?  In  general,  do  you  prefer  to  read  tales  by  new 
authors  or  by  old  ones? 

21.  Fiod,  in  a  magazine  of  not  over  200,000  circu- 
lation, a  well-written  story  which  you  think  would  be 
likely  to  arouse  the  resentment  of  some  readers  on  ac- 
count of  its  criticism  of  any  aspect  of  religious,  social, 
or  poHtical  life.  Have  you  ever  found  in  a  magazine  a 
story  that  showed  strong  political  partisanship?  A  strong 
prejudice  in  favor  of  or  against  any  religious  sect? 


[232] 


CHAPTER  VII 
A    MAGAZINE    OFFICE   FROM   THE    INSIDE 

The  ojQfice  of  a  fiction  magazine  presents  a  de- 
cided contrast  to  a  college  classroom.  It  is 
not  academic.  The  editor,  who  is  Ukely  to  be 
a  brisk  and  businesslike  rather  than  a  studious 
person,  dreads  few  things  more  than  what  he 
calls  a  "high-brow"  atmosphere.  For  his  busi- 
ness is  to  please  his  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
readers.  They  are  not  forced  to  buy  his  maga- 
zine, as  students  are  forced  to  buy  a  textbook 
and  to  listen  to  the  lectures  of  an  instructor. 
Hence  he  must  ascertain,  not  what  people  ought 
to  want,  but  what  they  actually  do  want.  True, 
he  generally  contrives  to  educate  them  to  at 
least  a  trifling  extent  —  sometimes  to  a  con- 
siderable extent  —  yet  his  mental  attitude  is 
and  must  be  wholly  different  from  that  of  a 
college  teacher.  He  lives,  like  most  of  his  sub- 
scribers, in  the  informal,  breezy,  commercial 
world;  and  he  realizes  that  they  read  fiction 
during  their  leisure  hours,  after  they  have  fin- 
ished the  hard  work  of  the  day  or  the  week. 

[233] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

To  criticize  his  periodical  from  any  other  stand- 
point is  to  do  it  an  injustice.  And  at  least  he 
escapes  that  frequent  bane  of  the  college  class- 
room, pedantry.  He  is  a  practical  man,  and  he 
gets  results. 

The  systematic  handling  of  manuscripts,  how- 
ever, and  of  all  details,  presents  a  salutary  lesson 
to  many  an  academic  institution.  One  who 
should  step  inside  a  typical  magazine  office 
and  be  introduced  to  its  methods  by  an  editorial 
acquaintance  would  be  impressed  by  the  high 
efficiency  shown  on  every  hand.  All  manu- 
scripts, for  example,  are  indexed  as  soon  as  they 
arrive,  so  that  future  reference  will  indicate 
the  author  of  a  particular  story,  the  date  when 
it  was  submitted,  and  any  other  desirable  in- 
formation. Generally  a  separate  card  index 
is  kept  for  the  accepted  manuscripts.  All 
correspondence  is  filed,  of  course. 

The  day's  mail  once  entered  on  the  card  index, 
the  first  reader  takes  up  his  (or  frequently  her) 
task.  A  rapid  glance  at  nine-tenths  of  the  man- 
uscripts suffices.  If  the  first  page  is  hopeless, 
he  merely  runs  through  the  others  to  confirm 
an  already  pretty  well  formed  opinion.  A 
few  stories,  however,  he  peruses  with  care  and 
passes  up  to  the  next  reader,  who  in  some  cases 

[234] 


A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 

is  the  editor-in-chief  but  more  frequently,  in 
the  office  of  a  large  periodical,  a  second  sub-edi- 
tor. A  brief  comment  (sometimes  merely  *'  no  ") 
is  placed  upon  a  slip  of  paper  and  fastened  to  the 
manuscript.  If  the  comments  of  all  editors 
are  favorable,  the  story  is  likely  to  be  accepted. 
And  it  sometimes  happens  that  the  editor-in- 
chief  overrules  unfavorable  verdicts  of  his  as- 
sistants. He  is  also  the  first  person  to  read 
some  of  the  important  manuscripts  by  well- 
known  authors.  He  bears  in  mind,  of  course, 
not  only  the  merit  of  a  story  but  its  availability 
for  his  immediate  purposes.  Not  infrequently 
he  performs  the  kindly  office  of  suggesting  to  a 
writer  whose  tale  he  has  rejected  a  likely  market; 
and  it  often  sells  in  that  market.  This  is  one 
of  several  indications  that  the  average  editor, 
after  all,  is  a  human  being  and  not  an  ogre.  A 
miain  reason  for  his  rejection  may  be  that  he 
has  ordered  so  many  stories  from  famous  authors 
that  he  has  little  space  left  for  volunteers.  He 
cannot  afford  to  trust  to  chance  for  his  best 
features.  He  generally  wants  to  encourage 
the  new  writer,  however,  for  his  magazine  de- 
pends to  some  extent  upon  a  constant  supply  of 
new  blood. 

The  contributor  should  remember  that  the 
[235] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

editor's  plans  for  each  issue  must  be  made  some 
weeks  or  (in  the  case  of  a  monthly  magazine) 
several  months  ahead.  Generally  a  meeting 
of  the  most  important  members  of  the  editorial 
staff,  including  the  art  editor,  is  held  at  regular 
intervals.  The  contents  of  each  page  are  set 
down  on  a  schedule  sheet,  and  as  fast  as  the  final 
page-proof  is  read  this  fact  is  generally  indicated 
on  the  sheet.  In  some  offices,  suggestions  and 
criticisms  from  sub-editors  are  welcomed;  in 
others,  the  will  of  the  editor-in-chief  is  absolute 
law.  In  the  final  analysis  it  has  to  be,  if  the 
magazine  is  to  be  highly  successful.  But  the 
atmosphere  of  the  staff  meeting  is  generally 
chatty  and  jocose  rather  than  severe. 

It  is  commonly  the  duty  of  some  editor,  or 
of  more  than  one,  to  read  a  certain  propor- 
tion of  rival  magazines,  in  order  to  make  sure 
that  they  are  not  getting  new  ideas  first.  Some 
editors-in-chief,  however,  pay  little  attention 
to  rivals.  Indeed,  one  well-known  editor  main- 
tains that  heads  of  various  periodicals  see  each 
other  too  often,  in  clubs  and  elsewhere,  and  do 
not  keep  their  ideas  sufficiently  to  themselves. 
On  the  whole,  therefore,  there  is  perhaps  some- 
thing desirable  in  the  Philadelphian  isolation  of 
three  important  magazines.     Whether  he  sees 

[236] 


A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 

his  rivals  or  not,  the  average  editor  is  constantly 
on  the  alert;  and  if  anyone  steals  a  march  on 
him  he  resolves  that  it  shall  not  happen  again. 
All  this  presupposes  abundant  vitality,  opti- 
mism, the  business  instinct,  and  almost  unfail- 
ing good  judgment.  A  competent  editor  rarely 
has  occasion  to  change  his  mind  about  a  manu- 
script which  he  has  once  accepted.  A  new  edi- 
tor, however,  generally  declines  to  use  certain 
stories  and  articles  purchased  by  his  predecessor 
—  particularly  if  that  predecessor  has  lost  his 
position  through  poor  judgment  on  manuscripts. 
In  reality  the  editor's  judgment  is  his  chief 
stock  in  trade.  He  cannot  afford  to  be  influ- 
enced by  friendship  with  a  contributor;  or  by 
anything  else  save  the  merit  and  availability 
of  the  manuscript  itself. 

On  the  other  hand,  courtesy  is  always  an 
asset,  whether  shown  by  a  letter  or  in  an  inter- 
view. It  is  generally  a  mistake  for  an  editor 
to  make  himself  too  inaccessible.  The  master 
cultivates  the  art  —  a  very  delicate  one  —  of 
cutting  off  an  interview  after  all  necessary  re- 
marks have  been  made  by  himself  and  his  visitor. 
Generally  it  is  only  the  bore  who  has  occasion 
to  hate  the  editorial  fraternity.  For  the  average 
editor  likes  to  exchange  ideas  with  a  possible 

[237] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

contributor  and  to  encourage  him  by  an  infusion 
of  his  own  contagious  optimism  and  enthusiasm 
for  good  fiction  and  good  articles.  "There  are 
some  editors  from  whom  I  always  carry  away 
something,"  said  a  successful  writer.  Those 
are  the  real  editors,  the  born  editors.  Even  if 
an  editor-in-chief  is  too  busy  himseH  to  see  a 
visitor,  he  often  sends  one  of  his  assistants  out 
to  answer  inquiries  and  offer  useful  suggestions. 
Of  course  editors  differ  greatly  in  personality. 
Some  are  gruff  and  inconsiderate,  yet  continue 
to  be  successful  in  spite  of  this  serious  handicap. 
Some  are  destitute  of  the  highest  quaUties  of 
a  gentleman  —  but  not  many.  Most  are  likable 
men  and  women  who  maintain  an  espiit  de  corps 
in  the  whole  organization.  The  Curtis  peri- 
odicals have  been  highly  successful  in  this  re- 
spect; but  they  are  not  alone  in  their  success. 
Some  magazines  have  acquired  an  enviable 
reputation  among  authors  by  their  promptness 
in  rendering  a  decision  on  a  manuscript.  The 
Saturday  Evening  Post  and  the  Pictorial  Review, 
for  example,  commonly  accept  or  return  a  story 
within  a  week.  A  proper  business  system  al- 
ways makes  this  practicable.  In  fact,  it  is 
distinctly  discourteous  to  an  author,  as  well 
as  unnecessary,   to  hold   a  manuscript  longer 

[238] 


A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 

than  a  fortnight.  Several  periodicals,  never- 
theless, persist  in  their  dilatory  methods;  and 
as  a  result  they  ordinarily  do  not  get  the  first 
offer  of  a  story.  Some  even  delay  a  decision  for 
five  or  six  weeks;  but  these  are  seldom  first- 
class  magazines.  The  beginner,  of  course,  has 
to  be  tolerant  of  such  unbusinesslike  methods. 
The  successful  writer,  on  the  other  hand,  gen- 
erally confines  his  efforts  to  such  periodicals 
as  are  conducted  on  fair  business  principles  — 
which  include,  first  of  all,  promptness.  All 
first-class  magazines,  moreover,  pay  immedi- 
ately  upon   acceptance. 

The  relation  of  the  publisher,  the  owner,  to 
his  editors  is  often  of  great  importance.  The 
slave-driver  and  the  officious  meddler  seldom 
make  large  profits  in  the  magazine  field.  The 
wise  owner  selects  a  competent,  if  possible  a 
great,  editor  and  leaves  editorial  policies  to 
him.  This  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  success 
of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post;  and  the  absence 
of  non-interference  was  the  chief  reason  for  the 
decline  of  a  periodical  which  fifteen  years  ago 
had  a  large  circulation  and  a  large  amount  of 
advertising  matter.  An  owner  who  treats  his 
editor  like  an  office  boy  has  only  himself  to 
thank  for  future  lack  of  financial  prosperity. 

[239] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

To  both  owner  and  editor,  of  course,  business  is 
business;  but  it  is  a  poor  office  in  which  some 
sentiment  warmer  than  that  of  business  does 
not  circulate.  Some  expert"  has  recently  dis- 
covered that  even  hens  will  lay  more  eggs  for 
you  if  you  pet  them.  No  one  can  do  his  best 
work  for  a  man  whom  he  dishkes.  And  it  is 
the  business  of  all  of  us,  in  this  world,  to  make 
ourselves  agreeable  as  well  as  efficient.  It  will 
be  found  that  the  inside  of  most  magazine  offices 
is  a  companionable  place,  peopled  by  reasonably 
kind  and  cheerful  inhabitants.  The  contagious 
laugh  of  one  great  editor  can  be  heard  three 
offices  away.  He  meets  hard  work  day  after 
day  with  the  gayety  of  one  who  is  always  more 
than  equal  to  his  task. 

It  may  surprise  some  persons  to  learn  that 
the  amount  of  advertising  in  a  magazine  gener- 
ally bears  a  pretty  definite  ratio  to  the  excel- 
lence of  the  "reading  matter" — the  stories  and 
articles.  For  a  good  fiction  magazine  is  read 
by  alert  people  who  prove  to  be  a  better  buying 
public  than  the  other  sort.  The  moment  a 
periodical  becomes  somewhat  dull,  even  if  its 
circulation  does  not  fall  oflf  perceptibly,  it  be- 
comes a  poor  "buy"  for  advertisers.  This 
has  frequently  been  tested  by  the  "keyed  ad.," 

[240] 


A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 

which  asks  the  buyer  to  name  the  magazine 
in  which  he  saw  the  advertisement  or,  more 
commonly,  induces  him  to  chp  a  corner  contain- 
ing a  number  that  identifies  the  magazine.  The 
advertising  manager,  as  well  as  the  circulation 
manager,  also  has  something  to  say,  in  a  few 
cases,  about  the  editorial  pohcy.  His  sugges- 
tions, if  he  is  a  highly  competent  man,  should 
naturally  prove  worthy  of  the  editor's  serious 
consideration.  Not  that  he  often  directs  the 
editorial  policy  of  the  periodical  in  any  given 
instance;  but  he  may  remind  the  editor  that  a 
magazine  is  made  to  sell  —  if  perchance  that 
alert  individual  himself  ever  forgets  this  business 
principle. 

One  of  the  best  illustrations  of  the  relation 
of  interesting  reading  matter  to  increase  in 
advertising  is  the  "boom"  which  Scribner's 
enjoyed  while  it  was  publishing  the  African 
game  trail  sketches  of  ex-President  Roosevelt. 
The  volume  of  advertising  which  it  contained 
during  that  memorable  year  is  highly  significant 
—  as  is  also  the  fact  that  the  advertising  fell 
off  again  shortly  afterward.  Colonel  Roose- 
velt's political  articles  in  the  Metropolitan  seem 
to  be  somewhat  less  valuable  to  the  advertising 
department  of   that  magazine;    but  they   are 

[241] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

undoubtedly  an  asset.  It  is  not  merely  the 
number  of  subscribers,  but  the  kind,  which 
determines  the  value  of  advertising  columns  to 
a  merchant.  Obviously,  for  example,  it  would 
be  folly  to  advertise  high-priced  luxuries  in  a 
five-cent  weekly,  but  wisdom  to  advertise  them 
in  a  thirty -five-cent  monthly  like  Harper's, 

The  outsider  may  be  prone  to  ask  whether 
all  periodicals  are  purely  business  "proposi- 
tions" or  whether  some  of  them  aim  to  benefit 
their  readers  by  the  fiction  and  articles  and  to 
protect  them  from  fraud  and  injury  through  the 
advertising  columns.  Fortunately  a  large  pro- 
portion of  the  leading  periodicals  do  have  some 
educational  value  and  do  exclude  objectionable 
advertisements,  no  matter  how  much  money 
is  lost  thereby.  The  Post,  for  example,  even 
rejects  cigarette  advertising.  During  the  finan- 
cial stress  of  the  first  year  of  the  European  War 
it  let  down  the  bars  to  a  limited  nmnber  of 
cigarette  manufacturers;  but  it  has  since  put 
these  bars  up  again.  No  patent  medicines, 
unless  of  proved  worth,  can  gain  entrance  to 
the  columns  of  a  reputable  periodical.  And 
many  of  the  best  magazines  reject  all  liquor 
advertising.  It  is  not  only  good  morals  to  do 
this,  but  in  the  long  run  good  business  also. 

[242] 


A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 

A  first-class  periodical  should  be  in  all  respects 
dependable.  Some  now  guarantee  that  all  ad- 
vertised goods  are  strictly  as  represented.  A 
censor  employed  by  the  magazine  takes  the 
investigation  of  doubtful  cases  as  his  province. 
Nearly  all  of  the  best  magazines  have  these 
censors;  and  they  earn  their  salaries. 

Sometimes  a  periodical  performs  definite  ser- 
vices for  its  subscribers  through  its  department 
editors,  who  are  paid  to  answer  thousands  of 
letters  annually.  The  inquiries  cover  a  wide 
range;  and  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  a  large 
majority  of  the  answers  prove  practical.  Al- 
though this  system  is  much  more  characteristic 
of  women's  magazines  than  of  men's,  yet  the 
financial  editors  of  several  non-feminine  peri- 
odicals give  valuable  advice  on  investments. 
This  again  illustrates  the  fact  that  a  periodical 
which  has  been  built  up  by  the  good-will  of  its 
thousands  of  buyers  —  and  the  news-stand  pur- 
chasers often  outnumber  the  direct  subscribers 
—  should  recognize  this  good-will  by  some  sub- 
stantial services.  A  good  magazine,  like  a 
public  office,  is  a  public  trust. 

The  influence  of  motion  pictures  on  the  popu- 
lar magazines  is  decidedly  noticeable  to  an 
insider.     The  fact  that  "people  want  pictures" 

[243] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

has  become  so  firmly  impressed  upon  the  edi- 
torial fraternity  that  they  have  increased  the 
size  and  number  of  their  illustrations  until 
some  periodicals  have  become  veritable  picture 
books.  The  news  photograph  has  appeared, 
too,  in  various  weekUes  and  seems  to  be  a  wel- 
come innovation.  Several  periodicals  have  also 
changed  from  the  old  standard  size  to  the  Post 
or  the  American  size  in  order  to  get  a  larger  page 
for  illustrations  and  to  give  more  scope  for 
variety.  The  main  purpose,  however,  in  making 
this  change  was  undoubtedly  to  print  adver- 
tising side  by  side  with  reading  matter  in  the 
back  pages  —  these  "back  pages"  generally 
constitute  more  than  half  of  the  total  number  — 
and  thus  secure  a  larger  advertising  revenue. 
From  the  standpoint  of  the  reader,  it  is  desirable 
to  separate  the  two  kinds  of  matter;  but  the 
modern  popular  magazine  is  run  partly  for  the 
benefit  of  the  advertiser.  It  makes  its  money 
largely  through  its  advertising  revenue  rather 
than  through  its  subscription  price.  Indeed, 
more  than  one  periodical  is  virtually  given  away; 
it  would  be  printed  at  a  heavy  loss  were  it  not 
for  the  advertisements.  What  happens  to  a 
magazine  which  attacks  "malefactors  of  great 
wealth"  who  are  advertisers  is  shown  in  the 

[  244  ] 


A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 

financial  failure  of  Hampton's  some  years  ago. 
It  was  ably  edited,  but  its  advertising  revenue 
fell  off  on  account  of  attacks  on  vicious  corpo- 
rations, it  was  unable  to  secure  loans  from  the 
large  New  York  banks,  and  finally  it  was 
obliged  to  suspend  publication.  The  "'muck- 
raking" era  for  periodicals  now  seems  to  be 
pretty  well  over.  Several  magazines  show  com- 
mendable courage  in  their  editorial  columns; 
but  they  are  somewhat  cautious  about  offending 
many  large  advertisers.  This  is  not  equivalent, 
however,  to  saying  that  the  advertisers  control 
the  policies  of  the  magazines.  Nor  do  they 
control  the  best  newspapers. 

The  casual  observer  often  misses  the  close 
relationship  of  the  magazine  to  the  newspaper. 
Such  fiction-and-article  weeklies  as  the  Post 
and  Collier's  are  in  reality  glorified  news-sheets. 
In  the  case  of  the  new  three-cent  Every  Week, 
this  relation  is  emphasized  by  the  price.  To 
a  lesser  extent  the  relation  holds  for  the  month- 
lies also.  Even  the  fiction  is  often  founded 
on  ideas  or  customs  recently  introduced.  This 
is  illustrated  in  the  subjects  of  the  detective 
stories  of  Arthur  B.  Reeve,  which  aim  to  keep 
up  to  the  minute  on  scientific  discoveries.  Most 
magazine  editors  have  been   newspaper  men, 

[  245  ] 


The  Contemporary  Shxyrt  Story 

and  the  atmosphere  of  the  newspaper  office  is 
pretty  accurately  preserved.  The  '*nose  for 
news"  and  the  desire  to  make  a  "scoop"  are 
prominent.  Both  kinds  of  editors  commonly 
impress  one  first  by  their  great  physical  energy, 
though  there  are  notable  exceptions  even  among 
the  leaders.  They  are  business  men  rather 
than  hterary  men  —  though  here  again  there 
are  notable  exceptions.  It  is  the  commercial 
atmosphere  of  America  and  the  development 
of  the  advertising  idea  which  are  responsible 
for  the  surprising  number  of  our  periodicals  as 
compared  with  those  of  other  countries.  Our 
glorification  of  the  "practical"  and  contempt 
for  the  beautiful  is  nowhere  so  well  illustrated 
as  in  the  outrageous  prevalence  of  advertising 
signs  along  our  highways  and  railways. 

Inside  the  average  magazine  office  one  is  hkely 
to  feel  that  he  is  still  in  a  commercial  atmosphere. 
Although  a  few  editors  give  a  writer  of  good 
fiction  a  free  hand,  most  of  them  are  prone  to 
prescribe  certain  subjects  and  methods  which 
subscribers  seem  to  prefer.  The  contributor  is 
therefore  constantly  in  danger  of  being  turned 
into  a  Hterary  hack  —  more  so  after  he  becomes 
famous,  perhaps,  than  before.  If  he  wishes 
to  turn  out  South  African  tales,  he  is  reminded 

[246] 


A  Magazine  Office  from  the  Inside 

that  American  subjects  are  best  for  American 
readers.  If  he  wishes  to  develop  tragedy  in  the 
short  story,  he  is  emphatically  warned  that  sub- 
scribers will  endure  only  a  small  proportion  of 
unpleasant  subjects;  and,  particularly,  unpleas- 
ant endings.  If,  in  a  word,  he  wishes  to  be 
artistic,  he  is  told  that  he  must  be  business- 
hke.  As  a  result,  this  businesslike  quality  is 
reflected  in  the  faces  of  altogether  too  many  of 
our  American  novelists  and  short-story  writers. 
They  compare  very  unfavorably  with  the  faces 
of  British  novelists.  A  few  editors,  however, 
really  desire  to  develop  an  author  on  the  lines 
of  his  best  possibilities;  and  these  editors  have 
an  opportunity  to  do  a  great  service  to  American 
literature.  No  one  who  has  followed  the  dis- 
appointing career  of  such  fiction  writers  as  Rex 
Beach  and  Jack  London  can  fail  to  regret  that 
they  have  not  had  the  best  editorial  advice  and 
encouragement. 

The  magazine  office  has  journaUzed  too  many 
of  our  promising  young  artists.  The  tempta- 
tion to  make  money  has  in  a  large  majority 
of  cases  proved  too  much  for  their  literary 
consciences.  Carlyle  long  ago  referred  con- 
temptuously to  this  fault  in  Scott  —  "writing 
extempore  novels  to  buy  farms  with."    Too  few 

[247] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

magazine  owners  realize  to  the  full  their  pubUe 
responsibUty.  Most  of  them  are  honest  busi- 
ness men,  but  they  are  indifferent  or  hostile  to 
literary  art.  They  will  not  Usten  with  patience 
to  anything  that  is  inconsistent  with  large  prof- 
its. On  the  whole,  it  is  surprising,  therefore, 
that  so  large  a  proportion  of  really  good  short 
stories  creep  into  our  highly  popular  periodicals. 
Perhaps  the  most  optimistic  thought  that  can 
be  left  in  the  mind  of  the  person  who  is  inter- 
ested in  the  future  of  American  fiction  is  that 
literary  finish  and  literary  art,  provided  they 
are  accompanied  by  lively  action  and  complete 
intelligibility,  are  not  scorned  even  by  com- 
mercialized editors.  After  all,  therefore,  busi- 
ness is  not  always  incompatible  with  art. 


[248] 


APPENDIX 
SUGGESTIONS   FOR   BEGINNERS 

1.  Submit  typewritten  copy  only.  Editors  are  too 
busy  to  look  for  gems  in  half  illegible  manuscripts. 
Double-space  the  lines.  Place  your  address,  or  both 
name  and  address,  in  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  the 
first  sheet.  In  the  upper  right-hand  corner  indicate  the 
approximate  number  of  words.  Mail  your  manuscript 
flat  or  folded,  not  rolled. 

2.  Enclose,  if  possible,  not  merely  return  postage, 
but  a  stamped  and  addressed  envelope.  In  any  case,  be 
sure  that  the  postage  is  sufficient.  Magazines  are  con- 
stantly receiving  manuscripts  that  are  only  partly  prepaid. 

3.  Don't  ask  an  editor  for  criticism.  If  your  manu- 
script is  promising,  you  will  probably  get  a  brief  letter  of 
encouragement  without  asking  for  it. 

4.  Don't  expect  an  editor  to  grant  you  an  interview 
until  he  has  expressed  interest  in  your  work.  Remember 
that  some  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  besides  yourself 
are  submitting  manuscripts  to  him. 

5.  Get  a  friend  or  an  acquaintance  who  is  not  too 
indulgent  to  your  faults  to  criticise  your  work  before 
sending  it  to  a  magazine.  And  don't  be  deceived  by  the 
"foolish  face  of  praise"  which  some  of  your  closest  friends 

C  249  ] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

may  exhibit.^  Hundreds  of  people  are  attempting  to  write 
short  stories  who  ought  to  be  engaged  in  occupations 
better  suited  to  their  abihties.  Story- writing  requires 
special  aptitude  as  well  as  special  study.  Ability  to 
create  character  and  wiite  dialogue  presupposes  a  pos- 
session of  the  dramatic  faculty  —  the  faculty  of  putting 
yourseK  in  another  person's  place.  Some  poor  story- 
writers  make  good  writers  of  magazine  articles. 

6.  Read  at  least  half  a  dozen  issues  of  each  of  a 
large  number  of  periodicals,  in  order  to  ascertain  what 
subjects  and  methods  of  treatment  are  preferred.  Don't 
try  to  sell  your  goods  to  a  market  of  which  you  are  ig- 
norant. You  can  get  a  pretty  good  idea  of  current 
fiction  by  reading  for  a  year  each  issue  of  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post  and  Harper^s  Magazine,  or  any  other  highly 
popular  periodical  and  any  other  conservative  and 
thoughtful  one.  Cut  out  and  preserve  any  stories  that 
especially  please  you;  reread  them  at  various  times  and 
study  their  technique.  If  you  fasten  the  sheets  together 
with  metal  clips,  you  can  keep  them  in  large  envelopes 
and  have  them  handy  for  reference. 

7.  Stories  about  story-writers,  editors,  publishers, 
etc.,  are  in  general  undesirable.  They  indicate,  also,  that 
an  author's  ideas  are  running  dry. 

8.  The  virtue  of  a  literary  agent  lies  chiefly  in  his 
knowing  the  market  better  than  you  do,  and  in  his  ability 
to  get  a  decision  from  several  magazines  more  quickly 
than  you  can  if  you  live  at  a  long  distance  from  New  York 

^  Cf.  Samuel  Johnson:  "The"  reciprocal  civility  of  authors  is  one  of 
the  most  risible  scenes  in  the  farce  of  life." 

[250] 


Suggestions  For  Beginners 

City.  Most  agents  who  advertise  are  reliable,  but  none 
can  guarantee  to  sell  a  poor  story.  Sometimes  they  can 
get  a  higher  price  for  a  good  story  than  the  author  him- 
self could  have  obtained;  but  not  always. 

9.  If  some  competent  critic  of  your  acquaintance 
tells  you  —  taking  his  Bible  oath  upon  it  —  that  your 
story  is  good,  don't  be  discouraged  by  two  or  three  re- 
jections. One  manuscript  was  accepted  by  a  periodical 
of  large  circulation  after  being  refused  by  nearly  thirty 
others.  Keep  a  card  index  of  the  magazines  to  which 
you  send  each  story. 

10.  Submit  manuscripts  intended  for  a  special  issue, 
such  as  the  Thanksgiving  or  Christmas  issue,  at  least  six 
months  in  advance,  if  possible.  Good  magazines  do  not 
wait  until  the  last  moment  to  provide  themselves  with 
stories  for  special  numbers. 

The  following  additional  suggestions  are 
reprinted,  by  permission,  from  the  Bulletin  of 
the  Authors'  League  of  America.^  They  are 
intended  not  merely  for  beginners,  but  for 
all  writers. 

11.  Never  employ  an  agent  without  an  agreement. 

12.  Sign  no  agreement  that  does  not  provide  that  the 
agent  shall  render  periodically  full  and  detailed  reports 

1  All  persons  producing  works  subject  to  copyright  protection,  authors 
of  stories,  novels,  poems,  essays,  text-books,  etc.,  dramatic  and  photo- 
play authors,  composers,  painters,  illustrators,  sculptors,  photographers, 
etc.,  are  eligible  for  regular  membership  in  the  Authors'  League  of 
America.  The  offices  of  the  league  are  at  33  West  42nd  St.,  New  York 
City. 

[251] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

as  to  his  efforts  to  dispose  of  the  property  intrusted  to 
him. 

13.  Always  retain  at  least  one  carbon  copy  of  every 
manuscript  you  send  out. 

14.  It  is  well  specifically  to  reserve  dramatic  and 
motion-picture  rights  in  all  instances.  Have  this  under- 
standing confirmed  by  letter  whenever  possible. 

15.  If  the  editor  refuses  a  decision  on  work  submitted, 
within  a  reasonable  period  of  time,  send  him  notice  by 
registered  letter  that  you  are  offering  the  work  elsewhere, 
and  proceed  to  do  so,  using  your  carbon  copies. 


[252] 


TEST  QUESTIONS 

1.  Do  the  opening  paragraphs  clearly  indicate  the    ^ 
nature  of  the  story? 

2.  What  sentences,  if  any,  at  various  points  fore- 
shadow the  outcome?  Are  these  suggestions  too  clear  or 
too  obscure? 

3.  Are  there  any  passages  in  which  the  author  uses 
analysis  and  comment,  instead  of  direct  delineation  of 
action  or  character?  Do  these  passages  improve  or  in- 
jure the  narrative?  ^ 

4.  Are  there  any  didactic  or  sermonizing  passages? 
Does  the  story  have  a  moral,  and  if  so  is  it  hidden  or  is 
it  thrust  upon  the  reader? 

5.  Is  there  any  incident  unrelated  to  the  others?     y/ 
Could  it  be  omitted  without  injury  to  the  total  effect? 

6.  Does  the  narrative  grow  stronger  or  weaker  toward    \/ 
the  close?    Is  there  a  genuine  climax? 

7.  Is  the  end  inevitable,  or  is  it  the  result  of  accident 
or  of  a  trick  on  the  part  of  the  author?  If  the  climax  is 
a  surprise,  does  it  convince  and  satisfy  you? 

8.  Are  there  any  points  where  a  person's  talk  or  act     V 
is  "out  of  character"?     Is  this  intentional  —  i.e.,  is  it 
done  to  help  out  the  plot?    And  is  it  in  any  measure 
justified? 

9.  Is  the  story  of  interest  chiefly  to  a  particular  cir- 
^  See  Winchester's  Principles  of  Literary  Criticism,  pp.  303-306. 

[  253  ] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

cle  at  a  particular  time,  or  does  it  possess  permanent  in- 
terest?    In  other  words,  is  it  journalism  or  literature? 

10.  Is  the  story  as  a  whole,  or  are  any  passages  in  it, 
painful  or  disgusting  to  you?  If  so,  why?  Would  it 
produce  the  same  effect  on  the  average  reader?  ^ 

11.  What  is  the  atmosphere  or  mood  of  the  narrative? 
Is  it  pathos,  idealism,  horror,  youthful  love,  ilHcit  pas- 
sion? Has  the  story  unity  —  i.e.,  is  the  mood  sustained 
throughout?  Is  it  good  art  to  relieve  a  serious  story  by 
passages  of  humor?  ^ 

12.  In  what  respect  is  the  story  original?  In  climax, 
character,  setting,  style?     Or  in  more  than  one? 

13.  If  the  tale  is  laid  in  an  unfamiliar  locality,  does  it 
show  that  the  author  knows  that  locality  thoroughly? 
In  other  words,  is  the  work  honest? 

14.  Is  the  effect  of  the  story  inspiring  or  depressing? 
Is  the  author  too  fond  of  realism,  and  does  he  use  it  with- 
out discrimination  ? ' 

15.  Does  the  style  show  finish,  or  carelessness?  Is  the 
vocabulary  large?  Does  the  tale  reveal  the  influence  of 
study  of  the  great  fiction  writers,  or  is  it  too  journalistic? 
Is  the  author  trying  to  express  himself  effectively,  or  is 
he  merely  trying  to  be  clever? 

16.  Is  it  probable  that  the  story  would  be  accepted  by 
Harper's  Magazine?  The  Saturday  Evening  Post?'  The 
Popular?  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal?  The  All-Story 
Weekly?    The  Metropolitan?    Why,  or  why  not? 

^  See  Winchester's  Principles  of  Literary  Criticism,  pp.  64-68. 

»  Ibid.,  pp.  92-97,  321.  '  Ibid.,  pp.  159-181,  300-303. 

[254] 


A  LIST  OF  AMERICAN    FICTION    MAGAZINES 


QSome  of  these  print  only  a  small  amount  of  fiction; 
others  print  virtually  nothing  else.  Unless  otherwise 
stated,  the  place  of  pubhcation  is  New  York  City.] 


Adventure 
Ainslee's 
All-Around 
All-Story  Weekly 
American 

American  Boy  (Detroit,  Mich.) 
American  Sunday  Monthly 
Argosy 

Atlantic  (Boston) 
Baseball 

Bellman  (Minneapolis,  Minn.) 
Black  Cat  (Salem,  Mass.) 
Blue  Book  (Chicago) 
Boys'  World  (Elgin,  HI.) 
Breezy  Stories 
Century 
Collier's 
Cosmopolitan 

Country  Gentleman  (Philadel- 
phia) 
Craftsman 
Delineator 
Designer 
Detective  Stories 
Everybody's 
Every  Week 
Good  Housekeeping 
Green  Book  (Chicago) 
Harper's  Bazar 


Harper's  Magazine 
Hearst's 
Housewife 

Illustrated  Sunday  Magazine 
International 

Ladies'  Home  Journal  (Phila- 
delphia) 
Ladies'  World 
Live  Stories 
McCall's 
McClure's 
Masses 
Metropolitan 
Midland  (Corning,  la.) 
Munsey's 
National  (Boston) 
National  Sunday  Magazine 
Outing 
Outlook 
Parisienne 
Pearson's 
People's 

People's  Home  Journal 
Pictorial  Review 
Popular 
Railroad  Man's 
Red  Book  (Chicago) 
Romance 
St.  Nicholas 


1^55^ 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Saturday  Evening  Post  (Phila-  Ten-Story  Book  (Chicago) 

delphia)  Today's 

Scribner's  Top-Notch 

Short   Stories    (Garden  City,  Town  Topics 

N.  Y.)  Woman's  Home  Companion 

Smart  Set  Woman's  Magazine 

Smith's  Woman's  World  (Chicago) 

Snappy  Stories  Young's 

Sunset  (San  Francisco)  Youth's  Companion  (Boston) 


[256] 


A  FEW  BOOKS  ON  THE  SHORT  STORY 

Ina  Ten  Eyck  Firkins.  An  Index  to  Short  Stories.  White 
Plains,  New  York:  H.  W.  Wilson  Co.  (This  large  volume 
is  extremely  useful,  and  would  be  more  so  but  for  the  author's 
arbitrary  methods  of  inclusion  and  exclusion  of  writers.  Some 
of  the  most  important  recent  collections  of  short  stories  are 
omitted.) 
^Brander  Matthews.  The  Philosophy  of  the  Short  Story.  Bos- 
ton: Houghton  Mifflin  Co. 
_  •  Bliss  Perry.  A  Study  of  Prose  Fiction  (Chapter  XII,  The 
Short  Story).     Boston:   Houghton  Mifflin  Co. 

Stuart  P.  Sherman.  A  Book  of  Short  Stories.  New  York: 
Henry  Holt  &  Co. 

Henry  S.  Canby.  A  Study  of  the  Short  Story.  New  York: 
Henry  Holt  &  Co. 

Walter  B.  Pitkin.  The  Art  and  the  Business  of  Story  Writing. 
New  York:   The  Macmillan  Co. 

Carolyn  Wells.  The  Technique  of  the  Mystery  Story.  Spring- 
field, Mass.:  The  Home  Correspondence  School. 

J.  Berg  Esenwein.  Writing  the  Short  Stcyry.  A  Practical 
Handbook  on  the  Rise,  Structure,  Writing,  and  Sale  of  the 
Modern  Short  Story.    New  York:  Hinds,  Noble  &  Eldredge. 


[257] 


A   LIST   OF   REPRESENTATIVE   SHORT 
STORIES 

Edgab  Allan  Poe 

/The  Cask  of  Amontillado 
/The  Gold-Bug 

^The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher 
^'The  Purloined  Letter 

A  Descent  into  the  Maelstrom 
/The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum 
<rhe  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue 

Ligeia 
/The  Masque  of  the  Red  Death 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

The  Birthmark  {Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse) 

The  Great  Stone  Face  {The  Snow  Image) 

The  Artist  of  the  Beautiful  {Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse) 

Rappaccini's  Daughter  {Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse) 

The  Ambitious  Guest  {Timce  Told  Tales) 

The  WTiite  Old  Maid 

Wakefield 

Ethan  Brand 

Guy  de  Maupassant 

^  A  Coward  {The  Odd  Number) 
-^The  Necklace 
The  String 

On  the  Journey    "        " 
Happiness  "        " 

MoonHght 

[258] 


Representative  Short  Stories 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Markheim  (The  Merry  Men) 

The  Merry  Men 

Will  o'  the  Mill  (The  Merry  Men) 

A  Lodging  for  the  Night  (New  Arabian  Nights) 
^The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door 

The  Pavilion  on  the  Links  "  " 

^The  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde 

RuDYABD  Kipling 

Without  Benefit  of  Clergy  (Life's  Handicap) 

On  Greenhow  Hill 

The  Mark  of  the  Beast 

The  City  of  Dreadful  Night    " 

The  Man  Who  Was 

The  Man  Who  Would  Be  King  (Under  the  Deodars) 

The  Drums  of  the  Fore  and  Aft       "  " 

The  Brushwood  Boy  (The  Day's  Work) 

The  Ship  That  Found  Herself  (The  Day's  Work) 

They  (Traffics  and  Discoveries) 

An  Habitation  Enforced  (Actions  and  Reactions) 

Maurice  Hewlett 

Quattrocentisteria  (Earthwork  out  of  Tuscany) 
Madonna  of  the  Peach  Tree  (Little  Novels  of  Italy) 
Eugenio  and  Galeotto  (New  Canterbury  Tales) 

Mary  E.  Wilkins-Freeman 

The  Revolt  of  "Mother"  (A  New  England  Nun) 

The  Scent  of  the  Roses 

The  Little  Maid  at  the  Door  (Silence) 

O.  Henry 

A  Municipal  Report  (Strictly  Business) 
Phoebe  (Roads  of  Destiny) 
The  Gift  of  the  Magi  (The  Four  Million) 
[  259  ] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

Bret  Harte 

The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp 

The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat  (The  Luck  of  Rcxiring  Camp) 

Tennessee's  Partner  **  ** 

Joseph  Conrad 
Youth 

Heart  of  Darkness  (Yovih) 
The  Lagoon  (Tales  of  Unrest) 

William  Wymark  Jacobs 

^<rhe  Monkey's  Paw  (The  Lady  of  tJie  Barge) 
A  Black  Affair  (Many  Cargoes) 

Herbert  George  Welis 

The  Cone  (Thirty  Strange  Stories) 
The  Star  (Tales  of  Space  and  Time) 

Sir  Arthur  Conan  Doyle 

v'The  Adventure  of  the  Speckled  Band  (The  Adventures  of 
Sherlock  Holmes) 
The    Red-Headed    League    (The    Adventures    of   Sherlock 
Holmes) 

HonorI:  de  Balzac 

A  Passion  in  the  Desert 
La  Grande  Breteche 

Franqois  Copp^e 

The  Piece  of  Bread 
The  Substitute 

Prosper  Merimee 
Mateo  Falcone 

Charles  Dickexs 
•^  A  Christmas  Carol 

Edward  Everett  Hale 

>i  The  Man  Without  a  Country 

[260] 


Representative  Short  Stories 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 
Marjorie  Daw 

Thomas  Hardy 

The  Three  Strangers  {Wessex  Tales) 

For  Conscience'  Sake  {Life's  Little  Ironies) 

Henry  Cuyler  Bunner 

The  Love-Letters  of  Smith  (Short  Sixes) 

Henry  James 

The  Turn  of  the  Screw  {The  Tvjo  Magics) 

Arthur  Morrison 

On  the  Stairs  {Tales  of  Mean  Streets) 

Irvin  S.  Cobb 

The  Belled  Buzzard  {The  Escape  of  Mr.  Trimm) 

Gertrude  Atherton 
The  Bell  in  the  Fog 

Peter  B.  Kyne 

The  Three  Godfathers 

Fannie  Hurst 

Power  and  Horsepower  {Just  Around  the  Corner) 

Freeman  Tilden 

The  Defective  {That  Night,  and  Other  Satires) 

DoNN  Byrne 

Biplane  No.  2  {Stories  Without  Women) 

Richard  Harding  Davis 

Her  First  Appearance  {Van  Bibber  and  Others) 

Charles  G.  D.  Roberts 

The  Truce  {The  Watchers  of  the  Trails) 

Margaret  Deland 

Good  for  the  Soul  {Old  Chester  Tales) 

[261] 


The  Contemporary  Short  Story 

GOUVERNEUR   MoRRIS 

The  Claws  of  the  Tiger  {It,  and  Other  Stories) 

Jack  London 
Love  of  Life 

Edith  Wharton 

His  Father's  Son  (Tales  of  Men  and  Ghosts) 

Katharine  Fullerton  Gerould 
Vain  Oblations 

Thomas  Nelson  Page 

Marse  Chan  {In  Ole  Virginia) 

My^a  Kelly 

Love  Among  the  Blackboards  {Little  Citizens) 
Edna  Ferber 

Roast  Beef  Medium 

E.   W.   HORNUNG 

The  Honor  of  the  Road  (Stingaree) 

Booth  Tarkington 

An  Overwhelming  Saturday   {Cosmopolitan,   Nov.,   1913; 
reprinted  in  Penrod:  chaps,  xv,  xvi,  xvii) 
This  collection  of  short  stories  —  in  Penrod  —  has  been  disguised 

to  represent  a  novel. 

Arthur  Cosslett  Smith 
The  Turquoise  Cup 

Anthony  Hope 

The  House  Opposite  {The  Dolly  Dialogues) 

Melville  Davisson  Post 

The  House  of  the  Dead  Man  {Saturday  Evening  Post,  Sept. 
30,  1911) 

Montague  Glass 

Perfectly  Neuter  {Saturday  Evening  Post,  May  22,  1915) 
[262] 


Representative  Short  Stories 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

The  Head  of  Caesar  (The  Wisdom  of  Father  Brown) 

Mary  Synon 

The  Bounty- Jumper  (The  Best  Short  Stories  of  1915) 

Charles  E.  Van  Loan 

Water  Stuff  {Buck  Parvin  and  the  Movies) 

John  Galsworthy 

Quality  {Short  Stories  for  High  Schools) 


[263] 


INDEX 


Abbott,   Eleanor  Hallowell,   191- 
192 

Action,  lack  of,  60-52,  80;    past, 

130 
Adventure,  99,  144,  212,  213,  229 
Adventure   of  the   Speckled   Band, 

The,  110,  133,  175 
Advertising  columns,  relation  of  to 

reading  matter,  240 
Agents,  literary,  251 
Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  107,  261 
Allegory,  170 

All-Story  Weekly,  42,  212,  229,  254 
American  Magazine,  53,  222,  232 
Ambitious  Guest,  The,  118,  133,  170 
Apprenticeship,  period  of,  35 
Aristotle,  9,  118,  140,  148 
Arnold,  Matthew,  9,  176,  182 
Art  and  business,  171,212,246—248 
Artist   of  the  Beautiful,    The,   85, 

135,  170 
Artistic  Temperament,  27 
Assault  of  Wings,  The,  103-106 
Atherton,  Gertrude,  13,  194,  218, 

261 
Atlantic  Monthly,  80,  100,  218,  229 
Atmosphere,  17,  94,  110-111,  145, 

254 
Aumonier,  Stacy,  147 
Austen,  Jane,  27,  66,  174 
Authors'  League  of  America,  The, 

177,  211,  213,  251 


Belled  Buzzard,  The,  67,  162,  191 
Big   Idea   in   the   Backwoods,    A, 

14-15 
Birthmark,  The,  40,  143,  170 
"Blurb,"  39 

Blythe,  Samuel  G.,  31,  209 
Bookman,  The,  71,  175 
Bounty-Jumper,  The,  132,  175 
Brevity  of  expression,  197-198 
Broadway  to  Buenos  Aires,  53 
Browning,  Robert,  89,   154,   159- 

160 
Brunetifere,  Ferdinand,  97 
Brunt,  193 
Brushwood  Boy]  The,  119-120,  161, 

166,  174 
Burns,  Robert,  28,  116 
Business  stories,  15,  209,  229 
Byrne,  Donn,  22-23,  114,  129,  193, 

215,  230,  261 


\  Baker,  George  P.,  123 
Balzac,  Honor6  de,  42,  260 
Beginning,  111-115,  137 


Canby,  Henry  S.,  190,  257 

Cask  of  Amontillado,  The,  81,  111, 
133 

Century  Magazine,  71,  80,  184, 
217,  227,  229,  232 

Chambers,  Robert  W.,  22,  79,  161, 
187,  204 

Characters,  25,  78,  87,  96,  128, 
129,  141-160,  172-175;  in  ac- 
tion, 146;  conventionality  of, 
148;  unusual,  158 

Chester,  George  Randolph,  63,  225 

Chesterton,  Cecil,  160 

Chesterton,  G.  K.,  47,  182,  214, 
263 

[265] 


Index 


Christmas  Carol,  A,  40,  137,  162, 

167 
ChurchiU,  Winston,  194,  205 
CUy  of  Dreadful  Night,  The,  136 
Classic  literature,  163 
CUmax,   skilful,   58;    unexpected, 

87,    107-110;     secondary,    105; 

importance  of,  106,  134,  138, 146 
Cobb,   Irvin  S.,   19,  31,  57,   161, 

162,  191,  207,  230,  261 
CoUier'8  Weekly,  27,  72,  198,  209. 

222,  226,  229,  230,  232,  245 
Complication,  118 
Conrad,   Joseph,    15-17,   42,    144, 

161,  172,  18&-189,  217,  230,  260 
Contrast,  159 

Copy-Cat,  The,  6,  97,  128 
Cosmopolitan,   71,    173,   204,   205, 

214,  224,  226,  229 
Covmrd,  A,  146 
Criminal,  as  hero,  63 

Daviess,  Maria  Thompson,  215 

Davis,  Robert  H.,  222 

Defoe,  Daniel,  27,  147 

Dekker,  Thomas,  100 

Denouement.     See  Climax 

Description,  138,  157 

Detective  story,  the,  62 

Dialect,  199 

Dialogue,  faulty,  75-77,  126-128, 
253;  model  of,  75,  198;  pur- 
poses of,  75;  oflSce  of,  in  struc- 
ture, 123-133,  137 

Dickens,  Charles,  40,  99,  137,  138, 

162,  167,  260 
Didacticism,  40,  167,  253 
Doyle,  Sir  Arthur  Conan,  19-20, 

47,  62,  80,  109,  110,   122,  133, 
142,  161,  162,  175,  230,  260 
Dr.  JekyU  and  Mr.  Hyde,  117 
Drama  vs.  short  story,  97-99,  124 


Dream  Children,  69 
Dryden,  John,  140 
DuUness,  49-50 

Editors  and  editorial  policies,  8,  9, 
36,  61-73,  88,  106,  141,  172.  177, 
184,  196,  203-228.  233-239,  244, 
246-248 

Egotism  of  amateurs,  30-31 

Eliot,  George,  167 

Emotion,  tests  of,  66-67 

Ending,  87;  weak.  103-106,  138; 
unexi>ected,  107-110 

Epsie  of  Blue  Sky,  130-132 

Ethan  Brand,  170 

Everybody's,  21,  127 

Fact,  stories  foimded  on,  73-76, 

81,  82 
FaU  of  the  House  of  Usher,  The,  87, 

136,  162,  175 
FalstafiF,  63,  78 

Ferber,  Edna,  37,  53,  161,  225,  262 
Fiction  magazines,  number  of  in 

America,  35 
"Fictionized  article,"  the,  209 
First-person  narration,  111,  125 
Fish,  Horace,  21-22 
Flaubert.  Gustave.  34 
Foote,  John  Taintor,  3 
Friends,  The,  147 

Galsworthy,  John,  172,  182,  195, 

230,  263 
Gerould,  Katharine  FuUerton,  41, 

51,  154,  230,  262 
Glanvil,  Joseph,  98 
Glass,    Montague,    161,    220-221, 

225.  230.  262 
Gold-Bug,  The,  120,  162,  175 
Good  Housekeeping,  12.  191,  216, 

226,  227,  230,  232 


1266'] 


Index 


Good  Influence,  The,  25 
Graft,  129 

Great  Stone  Face,  The,  170, 
Grimshaw,  Beatrice,  53 
Gulliver's  Travels,  2,  147 


176 


Hale,  Edward  Everett,  18,  260 
Happy  ending,  the,  82,  228,  230 
Harper's  Bazar,  192,  226 
Harper's  Magazine,  13,  42,  58,  71, 

80,  90,  172,  184,  217,  226,  227, 

228,  229,  232,  242,  250,  254 
Harris,  Corra,  12,  130,  230 
Harrison,  Frederic,  176 
Harte,  Bret,  161,  162,  198,  260 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  1,  40,  42, 

52,  85,  88,  118,   133,   138,    143, 

159,    167,    169-170,    175,    199, 

258 
Hazlitt,  WiUiam,  67,  145, 158. 176, 

181,  200 
Heart  of  Darkness,  145,  161,  162, 

172,  188 
Henry,  O.,  24,  27,  32,  34,  42,  54, 

82,  108,  111,  112,  136,  138,  161, 

168-169,  171,  173,  175,  177 

200,  218,  259 
Hewlett,   Maurice,   90,   160, 

199,  200,  207,  259 
Hooker-up-the-Back,  The,  37 
Hope,  Anthony,  75,  262 
Hopkins,  William  John,  192 
Horror,  element  of,  59 
Humor,  108,  209,  212,  230 
Hurst,  Fannie,  37,  193,  194,  198, 

219,  230,  261 


198, 


164. 


Ibsen,  Henrik,  60 
Imagination,  1,  3,  20,  22,  39 
Imitation  of  famous  authors, 
Impression,     feebleness     of. 
unity  of,  86 


Incidents,  too  many,  116;  related, 
117-118;  unrelated,  253;  virile, 
141 

Individuality,  196 

Insanity,  as  subject  of  story,  57 

In  Step,  90-93 

Interest,  story,  51-52 

Inward  Empire,  The,  21-22 

Irving,  Washington,  136 

Jacobs,  W.  W.,  31-32,  57,  96,  122, 
124,  133,  139,  145,  161,  162, 
184,  198,  199,  217,  230,  260 

James,  Henry,  9,  50,  82,  121,  146, 
154,  167,  261 

Johnson,  Samuel,  1,  2,  250 

Jones,  Frank  Goewey,  28-29 

Jonson,  Ben,  136 

Journalism  vs.  art,  31-32.  95, 
190,  247,  254 

Justice,  12 

Kelly,  Myra,  21,  29,  262 

Kipling,  Rudyard,  14,  18,  19-20, 
22,  30,  38,  45,  64,  85,  88,  101, 
111,  118,  124,  133,  136,  138, 
143,  158,  161,  166,  168-169, 
173,  181,  186,  190,  198,  200, 
215,  228,  230,  259 

Kyne,  Peter  B.,  98,  143,  165,  173, 
194.  210,  230,  261 


Ladies'  Home  Journal,   100,  216, 

216,  226,  227,  228,  229,  254 
Lady,  or  the  Tiger,  The,  40 
Lagoon,  The,  188-189 
Lamb,  Charles,  69-70,  163,  181 
Length  of  stories,   88,    126,   197. 
221-222 
34  Ligeia,  97 

66;       Little  Maid  at  the  Door,  The,  69 

Living  up  to  Letchwood,  127 
[267] 


Index 


Lodging  for  the  Night,  A,  157,  161, 

164 
London,  Jack,  182,  195,  247,  262 
Lord  Provides,  The,  207-209 
Lorimer,  George  Horace,  32,  209- 

210 
Love,  element  of,  214-216 
Liuik  of  Roaring  Camp,  The,  162 

McClure's,  10,  28,  96,  222,  227,  232 
Madonna  of  the  Peach  Tree,  90 
Man's  Game,  A,  114 
Manuscripts,  amateur,  48 
Man  Who  Was,  The,  133,  136, 136, 

137,  175 
Man  Who  Would  Be  King,   The, 

14,  42,  112,  159,  161,  163,  174. 

198 
Man  Without  a  Country,  The,  18 
Marjorie  Daw,  107 
Markheim,  143,  185-186 
Mark  of  the  Beast,  The,  136 
Marse  Chan,  126 

Masque  of  the  Red  Death,  The,  137 
Materials,    lack    of    acquaintance 

with,  52-54,  83,  95 
Matthews,   Brander,    84,   87,   97, 

101,  142,  257 
Maupassant,  Guy  de,  2,   18,  34, 

44,  68,  88,  101,  107,  133,  139, 

143,  146,  170,  175,  197,  199,  216, 

231,  258 
Metropolitan,    16,    110,    124,    182, 

193,  229,  232,  241 
Milton,  John,  183 

Monkey's  Paw,   The,  67-60,  122, 

133 
Morris,    Gouverneur,     161,     184, 

194,  204,  230,  262 
Morrison,  Ari;hur,  93,  135,  261 
Motion  pictures,  35,  89,  243,  252 
Muir,  Ward,  10,  94,  135 


Municipal  Report,  A,  161,  163 

Munsey's,  218 

Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue,  The, 

137 
My  Last  Duchess,  89 
Mystery,  element  of,  141-144,  172 

Nation,  The,  27,  118,  128 
Necklace,  The,  2,  107,  133,  175 
Newspaper,  influence  of,  on  maga- 
zine, 245-246 
Note-book,  value  of,  24 
Novel  vs.  shori;  story,  87,  101,  138, 
201,  215,  231 

O'Brien,  Edward  J.,  41,  176,  194 

Obscurity,  118-120,  139 

On  the  Stairs,  93-94,  135 

On  Greenhow  Hill,  136 

Opus  43,  Number  6,  3,  97 

Originality,  impression  of,  2;  due 
to  psychology,  14,  41;  to  at- 
mosphere, 17;  style,  17,  23; 
in  only  one  story,  18;  too  dar- 
ing, 20,  22,  41;  personality,  25, 
30;  Jane  Austen's  kind  of,  27; 
vaudeville  cleverness  as  a  sub- 
stitute for,  31-33;  obtained  by 
keen  observation,  35;  shown  in 
title,  37-38 

Overwhelming  Saturday,  An,  173 

Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,  The,  161, 
165,  198 

Page,  Thomas  Nelson,   136,   161, 

162,  262 
Pathos,  64,  69,  173 
Pavilion  on  the  Links,  The,  162 
Penrod  stories,  75,  143,  173,  225 
Perry,  Bliss,  153,  160,  257 
Personality,  necessity  of,  67,  195- 

196 


[268] 


Index 


Phillips,  David  Graham,  28 
Phillpotts,  Eden,  207 
Phoebe,  112-113,  136,  175 
PictoHal  Review,  72,  81,  216,  227, 

229,  231,  238 
Pit  and  the  Pendulum,  The,   153, 

172 
Pitkin,  Walter  B.,  99,  257 
Plausibility,  14,  43-47,  74,  81 
Plot,    triteness    of,    47-49,    148; 

definition  of,  85 ;  place  of,  141 ; 

lack  of,  in  Conrad,  144-145 
Plot-ridden  characters,  46 
Poe,  Edgar  AUan,  1,  42,  57,  62-63, 

81,  82,  84,  85-88,  97,  101,  103, 

111,    120,    122,    124,    133,    137, 

153,  162,  169,  170,  172,  175,  1^1, 

199,  231,  258 
Poetry,  value  of  for  fiction-writers, 

28 
Popular,  99,  114,  212,  213,  222, 

229,  230,  232,  254 
Post,  Melville  Davisson,  47,  109, 

140,  214,  225,  230,  262 
Power  and  Horsepower,  199 
Prices  for  stories,  224 
Prison-Made,  113-114 
Problem  story,  the,  40,  141,  172, 

204 
"Punch,"  lack  of,  66 
Purloined  Letter,  The,  137 

Quality,  172 

Quattrocentisteria,  164,  207,  269 

Quick,  Herbert,  211 

Realism,  65-66,  73,  93,  160-161, 

254 
Red  Book,  The,  110,  222,  229 
Red-Headed  League,  The,  39 
Reeve,  Arthur  B.,  122,  214,  225, 

245 

C 


Revision,  95,  115 

Revolt  of  ''Mother,"  The,  40,   97, 

175 
Rip  Van  Winkle,  136 
Roberts,  Charles  G.  D.,  103,  261 
Romanticism,  160 
Roosevelt,  Theodore,  241 
Rowland,  Henry  C,  6,  128 
Ruskin,  John,  203 

Sacrificial  Altar,  The,  13-14 

Saintsbury,  George,  176 

Sam's  Ghost,  124-125 

Saturday  Evening  Post,  3,  6,   19, 

27,  40,  57,  70,  81,  98,  99,  109, 

128,    129,    135,    143,    172,    177. 

198,    199,    204,    207,    209-210, 

216,    219,   222,    224,    226,    228, 

229,  238,  239,  245,  250 
Scott,  Sir  Walter,  138 
Scribner's,   22,   71,   80,    132,   218, 

227,  228,  232,  241 
Setting,  foreign,  70,  246 
Sex  story,  the,  62,  164,  181,  204r- 

208 
Shadow  Line,  The,  16-17 
Shakespeare,  William,  3,  27,  50, 

61,  77-79,   118,   123,   142,   160, 

174,  196,  200,  206,  218 
Sherlock  Holmes  stories,  the,  20, 

80,    110,    121,    137,    142,    159, 

173,  214 
Sherman,  Stuart  P.,  108,  168,  257 
Short  Story,  definition  of,  87;   re- 
lation   to    novel,    87,    101;     to 

drama,  97-99. 
Sire  de  MaletroiVs  Door,  The,  82, 

133,  137,  157,  158,  185 
Sisson,  Edgar  G.,  71 
Slang,  171,  177 
Smart  Set,  12,  25,  103,  150,  222, 


Index 


Springer,  Fleta  Campbell,  90 

Springer,  Thomas  Grant,  55 

Swing  Song,  The,  219-220 

Stephen,  Leslie,  3,  43,  203 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  42,  52, 
82,  88,  99,  110,  112,  133,  137, 
138,  143,  157,  161,  162,  177, 
181,  185,  197,  199,  215,  231,  259 

Stockton,  Frank,  40 

Strahan,  Kay  Cleaver,  46 

Strand,  20,  71,  109,  231 

Street,  Julian,  126,  206 

Strictly  Business,  33 

Stnng,  The,  44 

Structure,  relation  to  geometry, 
87;  authors'  descriptions  of, 
90-93,  94-96;  condensation, 
96;  struggle  and  will  power, 
97-99;  careless,  100,  102-103; 
weak  ending,  103-106;  too 
many  incidents,  116;  lack  of 
unity,  117;  use  of  suggestion, 
118-123;  dialogue,  123-133;  ar- 
tifice, 134-135,  139 

StiLdy  in  Scarlet,  A,  20 

Style,  171;  colloquial,  in  periodi- 
cals, 178;  deficiencies  of  Ameri- 
can fiction-writers,  181-183; 
superiority  of  British,  183-184; 
Stevenson  as  a  model,  185- 
186;  Thackeray,  186-187;  Con- 
rad, 188-189;  Kipling,  faults 
and  virtues,  189-190;  natural- 
ness, 194-195;  personality,  195- 
197;  brevity,  197-198;  exercise 
in  diction  and  phraseology,  201- 
202 

Subject,  importance  of,  9,  10; 
undesirable,  64-57,  61-65,  81 

Suggestion,  87,  118-123,  137 

Sullivan,  Mark,  72 

Sunrise,  10,  94-96 


Superdirigible  "Gamma-I,"  22 
Supernatural,  the,  44-45 
Surprise,  element  of,  107-110,  253 
Suspense,  element  of,  58,  121,  122, 

123 
Swift,  Jonathan,  2,  147,  177,  195- 

196 
Synon,  Mary,  132,  175,  263 

Tarkington,  Booth,   29,   75,   143, 

161,  173,  194,  205,  225,  230,  262 
Taste,  literary,  203 
"T.  5.,"37 
Thackeray,    William    Makepeace, 

27,  99,  186-187,  201 
They,  14,  39,  119,  166 
Three  Godfathers,    The,    143,    165, 

173 
Tilden,  Freeman,  12,  25,  113,  194, 

230,  261 
Title,  37-38 
Tragedy,  60,  247 
Triumph  of  Night,  The,  136 
Turn  of  the  Screw,  The,  121-122 
Twain,  Mark,  27 

Unities,  the  dramatic,  88,  93,  136 
Unity  of  impression,  86 
Unpleasant,  the,   54-60,  81,  227, 
247,  254 


Vain  Oblations,  154-156 
Vance,  Arthur  T.,  72 
Van  Loan,  Charles  E.,  18,  29, 
194,  210,  213,  225,  230,  263 
Verisimilitude,  29 


126, 


Wells,  H.  G.,  41,  45,  260 
Wharton,  Edith,  75,  136,  194,  198, 

230,  262 
Whiting,  Robert  Rudd,  72 
Wilkins-Freeman,    Mary    E.,    40, 


[270] 


Index 

64,  69,  81,  97,   139,   161,   173,  Without  Benefit  of  Clergy,  40,  64, 

175,  217,  227,  230,  259  113,  136,  161,  186 

William  the  Conqueror,  14,  143  Woman's  Home  Companion,  216, 

Will  o'  the  Mill,  112,  157,  162,  198  230 

WHson,    Harry    Leon,    145,    148,  Wright,  Harold  Bell,  100,  187 

180,  191 

Winchester,  C.  T.,  66,  140,  169,  Youth,  144-145,  172 

253,  254 

Wireless,  45  Zelig,  175 

Wister,  Owen,  100  Zola,  Emile,  160 
With  a  Savour  of  Salt,  192 


[271] 


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